


Tough Love

by passivagrestiv



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, Post-War, Season 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23876083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passivagrestiv/pseuds/passivagrestiv
Summary: After pondering for so long, Mikasa still doesn’t know what to make of it. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier is in her house, dusting and scrubbing like a dutiful housewife. Worst of all, she let him.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Levi
Comments: 150
Kudos: 553





	1. All On You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Hope you'll enjoy my first Shingeki no Kyojin fic. I'll base the chapters of this fic on Jessie Ware's album, Tough Love -though not necessarily adhering to the lyrics of the songs. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated as well!

Within the solemn confines of her modest cottage, the furious slam of her front door startles Mikasa awake.

She blinks sluggishly in the darkness. There is no light in her bedroom. She doesn’t even have a sliver of clue as to what time it is –be it morning, night, dusk, or dawn. She only knows one thing: she doesn’t want to deal with whoever is barging in her house this time.

Groaning in frustration, she turns over in her bed to face the wall and covers herself completely with her musty blankets. Her nose wrinkles at the smell, yet she curls herself into a ball nonetheless, holding her red scarf to her heart. 

Mikasa once again surrenders herself to slumber, or at least, tries to. For the hundredth time, she curses her heightened Ackerman senses. Her hearing may not be as freakishly good as Sasha’s, but she sure as hell can distinctly pick up the careful, catlike strides of the intruder on the wooden floors of her drawing room.

Her heart rate spikes. Not out of fear – _not at all_. The intruder isn’t a robber, for one, but Mikasa thinks that she’d prefer a mild exercise with the conniving criminal rather than facing the owner of the footsteps which are now becoming uncomfortably near to her quarters.

The floor immediately outside her door creaks under the new, sturdy weight. After a few moments, she hears three slow raps accompanied by an imposing, gruff voice she knows all too well, “Ackerman.”

_Go away._

Another set of knocks. “I know you’re awake, Ackerman. I wasn’t exactly quiet.” A pause. “I’m coming in.”

Although all aware that it is futile, Mikasa steadies her breathing enough to be believable as the door hinges screech in the wake of his entrance.

“ _Fuck._ It’s a pigsty in here.”

She bristles at that, but stubbornly refuses to move nor respond to his remark. _Then, leave._

“Hell, not even the shithole that Jean calls his horse stable can compare to this.” She hears him kick one of the piles of clothes she has forgotten on the floor. “ _Oi,_ Ackerman _._ How long have you gone without bathing? Even the titans would blanche.”

Mikasa knows that she is supposed to rise to the bait like the old times, but she doesn’t really have the energy for this and for a long while, she supposes.

After a couple of hushed shuffles, her bed shifts with the added weight. “ _Mikasa_ ,” he says and she flinches at the hint of gentleness in his tone.

She twists herself further into the littlest ball she can. Dignity be damned. “Go away, captain,” she croaks.

He sighs. “It’s Levi, you gloomy brat. Not a captain anymore, remember?”

The shorter man stands and walks out of the room. Mikasa fiercely hopes that he has given up, but it is a pointless wish. He returns after a few minutes and draws the curtains, letting the sunlight filter through the windows and warm her bleak, cold quarters. She hears angry rustles of cloth and rattling bottles, then she becomes paralyzed with disbelief. _He is cleaning._

Utterly perturbed, she sits up to stare at his lithe form crouching down and picking up her filthy laundry and empty wine bottles strewn across the floor. His hands are dressed in rubber gloves, and his face is swathed with a pristine, white fabric. It is a scene that is so obnoxiously familiar.

“I didn’t know Hange sent a housekeeper,” she spits out, equal parts annoyed and embarrassed.

He doesn’t spare her a glance. “Take a bath, will you? Any moment more with that stench of yours, I’ll turn into a corpse.”

“What a pretty sight it will be,” she retorts. But as much as she doesn’t want to give Levi the satisfaction of her obeying his commands, he is right; she smells. So, she squashes her childish tendencies to antagonize the man and trudges towards the bathroom without another word.

* * *

After pondering for so long, Mikasa still doesn’t know what to make of it. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier is in her house, dusting and scrubbing like a dutiful housewife. Worst of all, she let him.

No matter how many times she would plunge her face into the water, she doesn’t wake up.

_This isn’t a dream. He’s here, and I've sunken to the lowest of the low._

She gazes at her wet, wrinkled fingers and plants her face on them. She really needs to put her foot down.

“Oi, brat. Did you drown yourself or what? It’s past an hour,” his nonchalant voice echoes in the bathroom as he stands outside.

She huffs in irritation and emerges from the tub, toweling off her body and taking her sweet time. Levi, already out of his cleaning uniform, remains outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall. He looks at her with an apathetic expression and she holds his stare.

“You look like a stick,” he says, assessing her towel-clad body in the same way he inspects 3D maneuver gears. She is at a loss on what to feel: affronted or self-conscious.

Mikasa decides neither. Instead, she observes him as well.

The captain certainly looks better than her, deceptively youthful as ever –much to her own chagrin. Some frown lines are present around his mouth, but no longer as prominent as before. His skin is now slightly tanned, a stark contrast to her pallor. But his bluish grey eyes, although now without the extreme severity of his dark circles, remain sunken and filled with lingering ghosts of the past; just like hers.

He seems to have caught on her darkening mood and turns around to saunter down the stairs. “Get changed and come down for breakfast.”

* * *

“Captain, what are you doing here?” Mikasa asks as she eyes the loaf of bread and steaming soup in front of her, ignoring the demanding churn of her stomach, and flits her gaze over her spotless kitchen and drawing room.

“Levi,” he corrects her and tears a small piece of his own loaf, tossing it to his mouth and gingerly chewing. He swallows and then says, “Preventing you from killing yourself.”

Her appetite vanishes altogether. “I am not killing myself.”

He raises a brow at her. “Everyone says otherwise. And now, I have witnessed this shitshow myself.”

She should’ve barricaded the door from the start. Sasha, Connie, Jean, and Hange continue to check up on her from time to time, and their apprehensive suggestions and pleas make it seem like something is wrong with her. She is breathing and alive. What more could they ask for? She is _fine._

Now, they’ve somehow roped Levi into this, the last person she wants to see.

“ _Mikasa_ ,” he drawls her name like he is speaking to a five-year-old. “Eat.”

She glowers at him with a ferocity that rivals the one she gave him in the courtroom a long time ago.

“I won’t leave unless you eat.” He casually blows the steam off the soup on his spoon.

Mikasa visibly settles down at that, reluctantly picking up her spoon and stirring her bowl of soup. The thought of him leaving her abode is a good change from all the unpredictability throwing her off today, and she acquiesces, finishing her meal minutes after he does.

Levi doesn’t remove himself from the dining table and he looks at her gravely. Her eye twitches at the unwarranted attention.

“What?”

“Mikasa, they’re dead.”

Mikasa’s jaw clenches painfully.

“Yes. I am perfectly aware of that, _Levi_.”

“No, you aren’t. They will never come back, Mikasa.”

“Stop,” she whispers weakly.

“There is nothing that you can do, Mikasa. Killing yourself won’t help. _Eren and Armin are dead_.”

 _Hell._ Their names. She hasn’t heard them for a while, and she wouldn’t dare say them herself.

_‘Eren and Armin are dead.’_

Without warning, dark spots pepper her vision, cold sweat exudes from her skin, and no amount of air in the world would suffice for her lungs. Mikasa crashes on the floor, trembling viciously, and Levi rushes to her side. She shoves him with meager strength, rejecting the hasty apologies spilling from his mouth. Her hand desperately reaches for her neck, but her red scarf isn’t there.

Levi gathers her into his arms and rocks her gently, drawing minute circles on the small of her back and guiding her to breathe. Mikasa fails to struggle against his hold and she fades away.

The last thing on her mind is the overpowering scent of disinfectant and peppermint.


	2. Sweetest Song

_“What do you think are stars made of?” Armin asks as he lies down on the comfortable cot spread on the rooftop of the Jaeger house._

_Beside him, Eren folds his arms to cushion his own head from behind, admiring the boundless blanket of twinkling stars. Caught in a trance, he murmurs, “I don’t know, Armin. You’re the avid reader. What do the books say?”_

_Armin hums thoughtfully. “Well, the books don’t really explain much about what stars truly are, only of their purposes in navigation and fortune telling.”_

_From Eren’s left, Mikasa glances at Armin, cherishing the light of the heavenly bodies that glimmer in his inquisitive blue eyes, and recounts pensively, “My mother believes that stars are the souls of the dead. They shine so brightly because they have found true freedom in the skies –away from the titans and away from the world’s cruelty.”_

_For a while, nobody utters another word as they absorb the weight of her words in their entirety. Mikasa settles her gaze on two golden stars that illuminate vividly from above. She likes to believe that they are her parents watching over her always, their light inextinguishable for the rest of eternity._

_Eren breaks the silence. “What kind of stars do you think we will be?”_

_Armin laughs nervously. “Don’t you think it’s too early for us to consider that question, Eren?”_

_“I think we will be the most beautiful,” Mikasa declares confidently._

_Armin sighs at that and adds, “And the brightest.”_

_Earnest, Eren clasps Armin and Mikasa’s hands in his own. “And the most inseparable.”_

* * *

As the gentle moonlight caresses Mikasa’s skin, she quietly awakens and wipes her damp cheeks. For the first time in a while, she has dreamt a pleasant memory, although wistful, instead of nightmares that drown her in her sleep.

Weariness creeps into her limbs, and she wonders if she operated the 3D maneuver gear again hours ago. But then she remembers the events that unfolded before she lost consciousness with striking clarity and fear.

The captain knows. Now that he has witnessed one of her episodes for himself, she doubts that he will leave her alone anytime soon.

What is the deal with the captain anyway? Without so much as seeking for her consent, he has uncharacteristically invaded her privacy; imposing his impossible ideals of cleanliness, preparing her breakfast, and being on a new level of nosiness.

Mikasa is aware that the captain retains concern for the former regiment members, now his old friends, despite the ostensibly permanent scowl on his mouth. But this display is certainly obtrusive and unnecessary.

With a heavy exhale, Mikasa sits up and the action causes the piece of fabric coiled around her neck to unwind slightly. It smells of soap and a hint of peppermint, and she looks at it disbelievingly, distinctly recalling her frantic search for it earlier.

He has wrapped her red scarf around her.

* * *

The porridge on the dining table is still warm when Mikasa decides to eat it. After washing the used spoon and bowl, she finds the captain sitting on the porch and pressing a teacup to his lips in the most unique way that is his.

She sits beside him and he hands her a steaming cup of what she thinks is chamomile tea. A cool night breeze upsets the leaves of the trees that surround her cottage, and she watches the small ripples appearing on the yellow liquid before she takes a sip.

“I somewhat understand why you chose to settle down here –outside the walls,” the captain starts, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “You can smell the ocean in the wind, and the trees are high enough for a good spin with the 3DMG. There also isn’t another soul for miles away which damn well takes the cake.”

“Are those the same reasons why you occupied my guest room with your belongings?”

He nods without missing a beat, grating on Mikasa’s nerves. “And the fact that I have nowhere to go.”

“What about that _adorable_ tea shop of yours in Trost?” She takes another sip.

His jaw clenches and Mikasa smirks against the porcelain cup. “I’m overseeing the preparations for a new branch in Shiganshina, but the district hardly has any respectable inns.”

She snorts. “And you’d prefer my _‘pigsty’_ of a cottage?”

He shrugs. “It isn’t as bad if you cleaned up the pig of an owner first.”

“You are insufferable, captain.”

He brings his cup to his mouth again and drinks slowly. “It’s _Levi_ , brat.”

She walks away.

* * *

Mikasa chuckles humorlessly as she makes her way to the patch of clearing outside the forest. The captain’s chamomile tea proves to be useless in quelling her simmering rage, so when she arrives at her destination, she plants herself on the grass and looks up at the brilliant starry night.

Just like always, the pair of golden stars gleam like freshly unearthed diamonds together with the duo of vermillion stars. Another pair of stars, blue and red, shine from a short distance below them. Eyes glazed, she raises her right hand towards their light, yearning with all of her heart to be with them once again.

Her arm stays outstretched for a while, and she ignores the small bouts of fatigue in her limb. But when she senses the presence of another, she finally settles her hand over her chest.

The captain’s treads are light yet purposeful. He stops a few feet away from her.

 _“What do you want?”_ She doesn’t bother to hide the disdain in her voice. He has walked right into this, even when she left.

Mikasa braces herself for a scathing remark about the mucky grass beneath her when he plops down on the space beside her. She blinks at the shape of his toned back, and she definitely does not freeze when he turns around and locks his bluish grey eyes, almost silvery in the moonlight, with her own dark orbs.

“I apologize,” he says coolly, but a flash of emotion in his eyes betrays him. _Guilt._

“Okay.” Though he does not state what for, she knows, burrowing her face in the safety of her red scarf. “But you have to leave. You know I don’t take too kindly in being _saved_.”

He shakes his head. “No, I have to stay.”

“Levi– “

“I need to stay, _Mikasa_.”

There it is –the steely resolution in his eyes that takes her back to the times when he was their squad leader. It was what kept them on their toes and preserved their lives in the midst of hellish circumstances. Whenever it appears, nothing in the world can bend this man’s will. His decision is absolute, irrevocable. And whenever she challenges it, it is always a losing battle.

 _“Fine.”_ She grits her teeth. “How long?”

“Five months.”

 _“What?”_ she sputters, sitting up.

“They need five months to build it.”

“It’s just a tea shop, Levi– “

He glares at her acidly. _“It’s not just any fucking tea shop, Mikasa.”_

She groans in frustration in return, mussing her own locks. Of course, this man also applies his impeccable standards in business ventures. Of course, he will breathe down the necks of the construction team at every chance he gets. Now that she has assented his stay in her house, his intolerable tendencies will beat the living daylights out of her before his fists can.

“Fine, _captain_ ,” she hisses, edging away from him and closing her eyes. “Just don’t cross the line.”

* * *

Mikasa faintly stirs as a careful, firm limb snakes across her shoulders and another supports the back of her knees. She is lifted off the ground and carried in an unhurried pace to who knows where.

She presses her cheek snugly into the soothing warmth of the person’s chest, one that is so painfully familiar to her.

“Eren,” she mumbles, listening to his steady heartbeat. “Please don’t leave me.”

His solid chest deflates as a deep sigh escapes from his lips and he rearranges his hold around her. His fringes tickle Mikasa’s cold cheeks when he slumps his head on her own.

_“What am I going to do with you?”_


	3. Kind Of…Sometimes…Maybe

It is fairly disconcerting to Mikasa, but as one week draws into a close, the captain and her have found some semblance of a truce –one she thinks is palpably _brittle._ They aren’t exactly amiable to one another, but the initial hostility has dampened into resigned frustration. At least, on her part. The captain’s manner is as offhanded as ever.

Captain Levi isn’t the worst house guest. In truth, Mikasa is sure that he is one that will be openly welcomed by any house; not because he is the most agreeable person that you will meet, but because he cooks and cleans and fusses as if it is his own dwelling.

Anyone would have cried in joy, but Mikasa always wishes that the ground will swallow her whole when he acts like this –an unsettling feeling which amplifies whenever she notices that he doesn’t bark out orders like he used to. Sometimes, it helps if she reminds herself that he is the one imposing on her, _I didn’t ask him to come. He just shamelessly barged in._

“Do you have to do this every single day?” She asks while she shoves a spoon into her baked potato. Levi is in the drawing room, religiously dusting the curtains.

Although she is in the kitchen, she knows that the captain is rolling his eyes. “Have you ever been under my command, Ackerman?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He doesn’t quip back nor snap at her to grab a broom –again.

The potato is warm and soft in her mouth. “Don’t you have to check your dainty tea shop or something?” After several days, the captain has yet to set out for Shiganshina. This comes as a surprise to Mikasa, thinking that he would fixatedly hover the site at once.

His reply is terse. “Today.”

Mikasa nods and rises to wash her used tableware. On the other hand, Levi unravels the ties of his white kerchief, lumbers up the stairs, and disappears into the guest room. He reemerges as Mikasa begins to settle down on the drawing room chaise for a nap. Seeing him approach, she forces herself to sit.

Adorning a black tunic, grey undershirt, and dark pants, the captain is modestly dressed for the trip. She stares on, still unused as to how casual and young the captain looks, and he coughs. Her cheeks glow with a faint embarrassed flush and she avoids his gaze.

“Do you want anything?” he questions after a moment, hands in his pockets.

She blinks up at him, caught off-guard, and then shakes her head. “No, I’m good. They usually deliver supplies here anyway.”

He dips his head in assent and moves to the front door, pausing as he touches the knob. “I’m off.”

Mikasa stills, and after a few beats, she silently answers, “Take care, captain.”

“It’s _Levi,”_ is what he utters before he shuts the door behind him.

* * *

The trembles of Mikasa’s hands appear unceasing as she grasps the reigns of her trusty chestnut mare. Even with the chilly wind kissing her weary face and the comforting scent of the ocean filling her senses, it is impossible for her to overlook the short exchange between her and the captain moments before.

_‘Well. I’m off, Mikasa!’_

_‘Take care, Eren!’_

Everything feels so wrong.

* * *

It is no secret to anyone who had known him that Armin loved the ocean for almost his entire life. As such, there is simply no other place more fitting for his grave than the cliff that towers above the mighty waves.

Here, Mikasa dismounts from her horse and retrieves the slightly crushed primroses from the saddlebag. Reverently, she kneels and traces the inscription on Armin’s headstone, laying half of the flowers beneath it.

Eren’s final resting place naturally lies beside Armin’s, and Mikasa does the same for him, but this time, she could not stop the tears anymore.

She can never see it. What does she have left to protect now that they have left her behind? What is the point of living when they aren’t by her side?

Their warmth, voices, and smiles live on as ghosts in her every day –in the blue sky, the verdant trees, the vast prairie, the lonely cottage, and her red scarf. She can never know love again, now that they are six feet beyond her reach, cold and lifeless.

Upon their graves, Mikasa cries until exhaustion draws her to slumber.

* * *

It is Levi’s impassive face that greets Mikasa when she regains consciousness.

“I am impressed by your ability to sleep anytime and anywhere. You seem to be doing it a lot.”

She groans groggily, sitting up, and flits her fingers over her eyelids. There is no use in hiding now. He has already seen them swollen and red-rimmed. “How did you know where I am?”

“It wasn’t a hard guess,” he says, lifting a golden brown, round snack to his mouth and nibbling it.

Mikasa’s eyes widen, “Is that–“

Levi tosses her a small, warm package and she catches it. She gawks at it for a bit until he nudges her foot. Then, she tentatively peels the layers of paper and finds the same snack underneath. _Oh._

_‘Do we have enough cents, Armin?’_

_‘This is enough for three, Eren.’_

_‘Man, even Mikasa’s eyes sparkle when it comes to croquettes, huh?’_

“Oi. Do you want it or not?” Levi’s eyebrows are furrowed in irritation, the croquette meshed to his lips. She is too preoccupied to find it funny.

“I do,” Mikasa shakily exhales, heart in a disarray of disbelief and overwhelming nostalgia. “Thank you, Levi.”

His glare falters and he observes her heartily gobbling up the snack with her glassy dark eyes. When most of hers is gone, he finishes his, carefully flicking the crumbs off his lap after.

Mikasa is grateful that he doesn’t sourly comment on her puffy eyes. She cannot collect the ardor to give a scathing retort nor mull over the fact he has witnessed her vulnerability for more than one occasion.

“Are things going well with the shop?” she queries conversationally instead, brushing off the crumbs of her scarf.

Levi beholds the boundless azure beyond him which is tinted by the mellow oranges and yellows of the afternoon sun. The colors dance in his bluish grey eyes.

“They’re still setting up the foundations,” he responds. “The work is satisfactory.”

“Of course,” she mutters. The captain is still stingy with his compliments.

Mikasa rearranges her position to contemplate the ocean as well. The sun is about to meet the horizon when he speaks again, “Your cottage is quite near this place.”

“Yes.”

“What’s with the horse?”

“I was picking flowers from another forest to the east.” _Are we in the regiment again, stating clipped reports?_

Levi twists his head and regards the primroses in front of the gravestones. He hums in thought for a second and then lets his gaze return to the waters. She glances at him, puzzled by his enigmatic actions.

All of a sudden, he rises soundlessly to his feet. “Let’s go. I brought pork for dinner.”

As he saunters toward the direction of her forest, Mikasa inspects her fingers.

They have ceased trembling.

* * *

When they arrive, the pork stew is ready for supper and Levi removes the scalding pot from the dying embers. He sets it on the dining table atop a round rag and scoops ample helpings into two bowls. She takes her usual seat, yet again useless and in awe of his motherly tendencies.

He slides one bowl to her, and for the first time, as the sumptuous aroma wafts over her nose, her stomach grumbles loudly.

He quirks an amused brow, passing her a spoon. “Better not starve yourself.”

Mikasa disregards his words and devours her fill in content silence, the succulent pork bliss on her tongue. A few minutes tick by and she brings the lip of the bowl to her mouth, drinking the remaining broth. With all her might, she reigns in a pleased sigh from escaping her lips.

A curious light glimmers in his eyes as he considers her, his bowl only half-consumed.

“Want seconds?”

Mikasa nods too eagerly at that.

There is a ghost of a smile on his mouth.

* * *

Mikasa tears the edges of the white envelope and lets the letter inside fall on her palm. It had been delivered while she was out, inconspicuously slid under the front door. Beside her, Levi is already seated on the porch, a teacup in his hands. He looks at her in question.

The paper employed by the sender is sufficiently fancy, emitting a subtle scent of roses. Her eyes inquisitively take in the elegant curves of the script and twinkle just the slightest with the news. She almost smiles.

“Sasha and Connie are getting married in a month.”

Levi snorts. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

It truly is. It has been four years since the war against Marley ended. Everyone had been expecting the couple to tie the knot no longer than a year after they finally reclaimed peace. But it seems that they had other plans. Three years ago, with their generous earnings from the military, Sasha started a vegetable plantation with the aid of Connie who also works as a barber on the side. Business has kept them reasonably busy and now that it has proven to be fruitful, they have built a new goal: creating their own family.

Lighthearted, Mikasa sits down beside him and sips chamomile from her own cup. Levi has brought different kinds of tea. She is sure that she is in for a surprise if ever she decides to satisfy her own curiosity through checking the entirety of the stash nestled in his room.

So far, she has also tasted black tea, green tea, jasmine tea, and peppermint tea. A new kind is always introduced to her each day, be it in the morning or afternoon. However, chamomile tea is especially reserved for evenings, and she has grown fond of it because she is now sleeping honestly well in the nights.

Levi holds the invitation in a nearly admiring manner.

Without much thought, she blurts the question, “Do you think about getting married, captain?”

He barely freezes for a moment.

“Yes.”

Stunned, Mikasa fully faces him. There are no traces of humor on the captain’s expression as he folds the paper gingerly and gazes into the shady forest. He is serious.

“To whom?” she dares to ask.

Almost imperceptibly, the captain glimpses her, perhaps struck by her audacity.

He pauses, then says, “Someone who will stay.”

* * *

The moon gradually illuminates her room with a fleeting, pale kind of light in which Mikasa basks under. She rests on the floor, clutching her red scarf over her heart. She can almost hear the captain’s disapproval.

_Croquette. Pork stew. Teas._

Speaking of, the captain is doing uncharacteristic things in an alarmingly increasing occurrence. She wonders if she has transported into an alternate reality of some sort; he is being unusually considerate and patient. In all the years of serving in his squad, she has never known him to be so. Her incredulity is not unfounded at all.

She cannot wrap her head around it. She has only relented since as an uninvited guest, he owes her as much. But now, pondering on it, it’s as if he is walking on eggshells around her because of–

_Oh._

It is a pleasant thought that there haven’t been any episodes after the one he personally witnessed. But, this is not the longest she has gone without them. She hasn’t even tried to utter _their names_ aloud. She is only a bit astonished that she has become accustomed to living with the another person after Armin and Eren’s… demise.

But, _fuck._ She isn’t fragile. The captain does not have to treat her like glass. Like an unstable lunatic. For many years, he regarded her as a trusted subordinate for crying out loud. And she won’t fall apart now –not that there are any pieces left to begin with.

The door creaks open and the rest of her room is lit by Levi’s lamplight. She sees the creases on his temple surface.

“Go to sleep, Mikasa,” he instructs brusquely.

The wave of anger and hurt that she cannot absolutely comprehend almost robs her of breath. She glowers at him, sitting up. “Do you do this every night?”

He doesn’t answer.

 _“You do,”_ she spits. “Well, I didn’t ask you to. I didn’t ask for any of this at all.”

_‘I’m off.’_

_‘Take care, captain.’_

With a hand, she musses her locks in frustration. “Captain, what are you _really_ doing here? I certainly don’t need a damn nurse.”

_“Mikasa–“_

“I won’t off myself,” she laughs harshly. “Don’t worry.”

“No.”

He takes a stride, his hand reaching for her, and she growls, quickly inching away.

“Stay, if you have to. _But just leave me alone, Levi.”_

Levi halts. The look on his face is one that she cannot recognize.

_'To whom?’_

_‘Someone who will stay.’_

Then with heavy steps, he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ittekimasu" and "Itterasshai" (roughly translated as "I'm off" and "Take care" in the story) are two intimate words that are often, if not always, said in a Japanese home. The former connotes that you will return to the place you are leaving, while the latter signifies that the other party will be waiting for your safe return. I thought that adding these is okay since Isayama and other manga artists usually throw Japanese elements and culture into their stories.


	4. Midnight Caller

Mikasa is excellent at making herself scarce in the direst of situations, a useful skill that guaranteed felling her enemies to the ground during the war. Now, because of this very ability, the captain has not seen even a single hair of her for the past few weeks and also, the other way around.

She thinks of herself as clever, but in actuality, she has only locked herself in her room to entirely avoid him. However, ever since Levi, on the fifth day of her isolation, threatened to kick down her door and throw her into the ocean if she refuses to bathe any longer, Mikasa only comes out to do so at the crack of dawn in every three days. And like clockwork, she is received by a freshly tidied room when she gets back, her red scarf neatly folded on the bed.

As for meals, he leaves them outside the door after three slow raps. Sometimes, she eats. Most of the time, she doesn’t. Levi is fine with her meager appetite, she surmises, and he won’t interfere unless she starves herself to the bone.

All this time, as she stares blankly at the ceiling, she reminisces of the happier past –of her first family and their overflowing love, of her second one and their tender affection, and of her scouting legion comrades and their rambunctious companionship.

_‘Preventing you from killing yourself.’_

Every now and then, she thinks of the captain, his obstinate sympathy, his calloused yet benign hands, and the foreign glint in his bluish grey orbs that startles her each time. He is hurting her pride and it doesn’t seem like he will yield soon.

Something is also amiss. Her crushed pride was not the only root of her ferocious outburst that night, but she is still hesitant to venture deeper into herself.

And the last expression that she saw on his face has been burned in the back of her mind.

* * *

Hange is a whirlwind and Mikasa, for all her reservation, remains like the others: a tumbleweed in the former commander’s path. With a piercing cry that sends a dozing Mikasa into an unwilling wakefulness, she bursts the door open, somehow rendering the lock useless.

In a daze, the younger woman is hastened into wearing more appropriate clothes and later dragged by the scientist downstairs to the outside of her cottage. From the drawing room, Levi’s deadpan stare at their antics is unbeknownst to them. And Mikasa, too dumbfounded to protest, is then boosted up into the saddle of her chestnut mare and they briskly canter toward Wall Maria.

Approaching Shiganshina’s entrance, they ease into a trot and Hange’s dark bay mare sidles up beside hers.

“Sorry for the rush.” Her former superior offers her an apologetic grin. “Have you prepared a gift for the soon-to-wed couple, Mika? I’m building an electronic washer modeled after the Marleyan counterpart, but I’m still skeptical if it’s ready to be given away or not.”

Mikasa is well past the point of feeling uncomfortable when addressed with that nickname. Rather, she is dwelling more on her rising irritation from Hange’s abrasive intrusion.

“No.” She glares at her.

Hange’s grin only broadens. “Thought so. Your dress, then?”

“The one from the victory party–“

“Absolutely not! You’ve only worn it once and that was four years ago. Moths have swarmed it already!”

“But–“

“No!” By now, it’s too late for Mikasa. Hange’s light brown eyes are sparkling so mischievously. “We’re _shopping._ You don’t even do anything with your money, anyway.”

Now within the sun-kissed walls of Shiganshina district, the older woman’s mare breaks into an enthusiastic gallop to the nearby inn with horse stables, infuriating many passersby. Mikasa rolls her eyes and alights from her own mount, guiding it by the reigns to the same direction.

* * *

“ _So_... How is it, Mika?” Hange asks as she eagerly examines the antique trinkets arranged by a scrawny young vendor who is gaping at them in starstruck awe. 

“How is what?” Mikasa eyes the two dusty obsidian sticks that Kiyomi calls _hashi._ She cradles them in her fingers, gently tracing the ornate vines of purple blossoms on their wider tips. It is a wonder that one of them is not missing. Nobody else in _Paradis_ knows of their purpose.

“Living with Levi,” Hange exclaims and then cackles. _“God,_ that was a mouthful.”

Mikasa is fortunate to not have dropped the _hashi_. She is not knowledgeable in terms of Hizuru’s traditions, but her late mother would have disapproved of drawing in bad omens.

“A pain in the ass,” she replies through gritted teeth, and fumbles for a coin from a fat pouch that was retrieved from her horse’s saddlebag –a pouch that is unquestionably not _hers._ _He_ is even sharing money now. “Everything was dandy until you sent him.”

“I certainly didn’t.” Hange guffaws. “He appears very at home though. Cleaning and cooking and everything and _damn_ , everything here looks so interesting.”

_“Too at home,”_ Mikasa grumbles.

Alluding to the _hashi_ , she hands the dazzled vendor a gold coin. “Don’t bother with the change.”

The young vendor gawks at the gold resting on his palm, then at her as if she has just slain a pursuing titan that almost snacked on him. He starts sniffling.

At a loss, Mikasa can only say, _“Oh.”_

_“Mikasa!_ Ever the heartbreaker!” Hange bends over in laughter. After a minute or two, the former commander regains a shred of her sanity and pats the boy’s head. “That is more than enough for the whole display, don’t you think?”

* * *

Hange has a smug smile on as she poses before the tailor shop mirror in a crisp, maroon three-piece suit. “ _Very interesting.”_

Mikasa frowns at the bag on her lap which encases the _hashi_ , wedding gift, Marleyan high heels, and the blue dress which Hange has named the _Man-Killer_. Narrating the prior events with the captain to the scientist is, as expected, a terrible idea. But she is careful enough to exclude the most concerning parts since she doesn’t want more guests showing up on her doorstep.

The scientist recounts, “Ever since I’ve known him, Levi isn’t one to willingly serve anyone. He was initially extremely hostile toward Commander Erwin, you know.” That stupefies Mikasa. Levi, although peevish, greatly respected the deceased commander.

She abruptly recalls their unfriendly last encounter and his indiscernible countenance.

“After they,” Mikasa starts, but she stumbles on her words. “After they both...”

Understanding quite well who she means, Hange settles beside her. “Yes?”

“Do you visit me because I’m pitiful?” The younger woman’s voice is hushed. “And that you also feel guilty?”

Hange stills for a while, humming in thought. “I admit I do feel guilty about them, Mika, when I could’ve done more to save them.”

Mikasa does not blame her nor anyone else. Eren and Armin’s... demise was beyond their capabilities to prevent. Even she has made peace with that. Though, sometimes she wonders if she had been better at protecting from the start, then possibly–

“But you,” Hange reasons, “I don’t pity you. I spend time with you because I care about you, Mika. We all care about you. You are our friend.”

Mikasa falls quiet, tucking half of her face under her red scarf. Then, she whispers, “Okay.”

* * *

Her cottage is already bathing in the late afternoon sun when they return. After tying the horses in the adjoining stable, Mikasa scurries to her room to stow her newly bought items and refill the captain’s coin pouch with the exact amount she spent. As she opens the guest room door to leave the pouch on his table, Hange yells in the kitchen, “Levi, the _housewife!_ What’s for dinner?”

“Fuck you, Hange,” is what Mikasa barely hears from the captain before Hange’s chortles drown his voice. She traipses for the kitchen, dawdling by the doorway for a bit, then advances toward the unattended chopping board near him.

Levi might as well gape. _“What are you doing?”_

Mikasa does not acknowledge him, focusing on her task. “Chopping the vegetables.”

“Right,” he drawls, stirring the stock in front of him listlessly. “But first, wash your hands and put an apron on.”

“Fine, old man,” Mikasa grouses, heading for the sink.

Instead of taking offense, Levi watches her almost warily. When she resumes cutting the carrots and potatoes, he throws the amused Hange a menacing look.

Gasping in mock betrayal, the scientist holds her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t do anything!”

Dissatisfied, he reverts his attention back to the dish and the pair diligently sets on to work in silent agreement. The beef stew is done in no time, and Hange’s mouth is watering in anticipation. Without missing a beat, she hungrily wolfs down her portion, prompting Levi to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

“This really brings me back,” Hange begins, scooping another helping into her bowl. “You guys were the best duo for cooking duty.”

“Who else?” Levi concurs. “The others were sloppy and wasteful, their food tasteless.”

Hange laughs bashfully. “By others, you mean...”

As if reliving the horror of her dishes, Levi growls, “You. Especially you.”

“Come on, cut your commander some slack. Isn’t he a petty old man, Mika?” Hange elbows the woman on her right who is too engrossed with the stew to talk. She doesn’t respond.

“Right, Mika?” the scientist repeats lamely.

Mikasa blinks up at her, confused, and nods once, resuming her half-finished meal.

Hange smiles fondly at her. “Okay, I’ll forgive you since you’re cute.”

“You two are close, huh?” Levi observes, poking the beef in his bowl with a spoon.

“I told you I come here every month.” The former commander lifts one brow at him. “Do you even read my letters?”

He pushes a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing leisurely. “Only when I remember.”

“You prick.”

* * *

Beyond the porch, Mikasa gives a spare lamp to Hange who is readily mounted on her dark bay mare. “It’s already dark, Hange. You can stay for the night.”

“Thank you, but I have to prepare for tomorrow’s departure.” The scientist beams, stroking the horse’s mane. “Like earlier, the ride won’t be long. And did I already mention that it’s a relief that they permitted us to keep our legion horses?”

“Yes. For the fiftieth time.”

Hange then shows the younger woman a mysterious smile. “If you’re still wondering, I didn’t ask him to be here, Mika. He came on his own accord.”

“He said that there are no respectable inns in town.”

“What an excuse!” Hange lets out a guffaw. “Most inns there are even cleaner than in Sina!”

Mikasa shrugs briefly. “I thought so, too.”

The former commander tries to calm down, wiping the small tears from the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but he’ll tell you soon, Mika. In the meantime, I hope that you’ll allow him to remain here. He won’t inconvenience you too much.”

Her former officer snorts. “That’s not very reassuring.”

Hange regards her pensively for a moment. _“You’ll do each other good.”_ With a cluck of her tongue, she gallops away, her dark brown ponytail whipping in the wind. “See you at the wedding!”

Mikasa’s dark orbs follow her retreating form until it is completely swallowed by the darkness of the wilderness. “I really doubt that,” she mumbles absently.

Turning around to amble toward her cottage, she stops in her tracks. The sight of the captain perched on the front steps suddenly makes her nervous.

“What are you standing still for?” he calls, beckoning over. “Come here.”

_Not a superior anymore, remember?_ Her eye twitches and she closes in, sitting beside him. He places a warm cup of chamomile on her hands and automatically, the tension in her body melts away as she greedily takes several sips.

A few tranquil minutes pass.

“Captain.”

Levi groans. “Just how many times–“

“Please treat me as you always had before,” she requests softly, silencing him. “That’s all I ask.”

He gazes at her momentarily and heaves a deep sigh, raising the teapot and pouring more chamomile into the empty cup nestled between her palms.

“I don’t think I can.”

And Mikasa plunges into a sea of disappointment.

“Why not?” she asks, defeated.

He levels her despondent grey eyes with his own bluish greys that gleam silver in the moonlight.

_“You’re not just anyone now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hashi" is the Japanese term for chopsticks.


	5. The Way We Are

The captain is an enigma.

When he drinks tea, he positions his fingers around the mouth of the teacup, forgoing the handle, and elevates the cup to his lips in a gruff yet surprisingly graceful manner. At times, he dons his immaculately white cravat despite lounging indoors. And when they’re on speaking terms again, he makes it a point to draw the curtains of her room and push the windows open at the crack of dawn, every single day.

Now, however, as he wraps Mikasa’s freshly laundered scarf around her neck with his face stripped of emotion and something unknown in his bluish grey eyes, he is more mysterious than the world that lies beyond Paradis and Marley.

“You should seriously wash that more often,” he says, distaste dripping from his tone, as he pads toward his raven horse. “I am amazed that your face isn’t covered with acne when you hide under that red rag all the time.”

And yes, when he opens that crude mouth of his, it takes everything in Mikasa not to pull on his cravat and drag him off his beloved mare.

Not bothering to conceal her scowl, she climbs up her chestnut mount and gallops ahead of him. 

“Slow down, you idiot,” he shouts from a good distance behind her. “You’ll break the plates!”

Mikasa deaccelerates into a trot, but not without muttering a string of curses under her breath. If her wedding gift for the couple wasn’t a set of porcelain plates, Levi would’ve been out of her hair if she tried to ditch him in their journey to Wall Rose.

“–annoying short–”

“What did you say?” Levi appears beside her, matching her new pace.

“Nothing.”

Mikasa restrains herself from squirming uncomfortably under his unfaltering stare and almost sighs in relief a few minutes later when he shifts his attention to the distant structure of the outer walls.

This time, she observes him from the corner of her eye.

_ ‘You’re not just anyone now.’ _

Whatever did he mean? A week has gone by since he proclaimed those words to her and she has yet to arrive at a decent interpretation. But no, she is sincerely clueless as to who she is in her former captain’s eyes now.

In the start, she was the glowering recruit who wished to murder Levi in cold blood after he reduced Eren into a bloody pulp in the courtroom. Then, she was the gloomy brat who constantly mothered Eren and was no stranger to insubordination. Then, she was his unofficial protégé who shared his powerful ancestry and hailed as one of the greatest assets in the emancipation of Paradis.

In the events leading up to their victory, Mikasa and Levi had formed a curious bond over training sessions, skipped meals, missions, and late-night patrols. It was mellow and somewhat comforting, especially with the prolonged absence of Eren in their group. Built in mutual trust, it was a good friendship. 

_ Friendship. _ Of course. Everyone’s visits to her cottage were born out of concern as her old friends. Hange had said that they care about her, like Mikasa did with Eren and Armin. And as unforthcoming as Levi seems, he must be care about her as well, and he is showing it in his own awkward, roundabout way.

She is a dear friend.

A flash of guilt and sadness prickles deep in her chest. She did not make the effort to check on him and everyone else over the years, yet they still drop by. Does she even deserve all of this?

“Oi, Ackerman.”

Mikasa raises her head and finds themselves navigating the streets of Shiganshina which are crammed with citizens gaping at them in admiration. From her right, the captain directs her a stern look.

“That scowl. You’re thinking of something stupid again.” 

Mildly offended by his statement, she regards him blankly. His reputation from her perspective is on the line here.

“Don’t stress your tiny head over it. It’ll be fine.”

Rendered almost speechless, she can only reply with a pathetic “Okay?”

Levi nods and then picks up his speed slightly, trotting ahead of a stupefied Mikasa by just a couple feet.

Her mind is reeling from her newfound angle of him. Rough and clipped, but it was concern nonetheless, right? He was trying to console her —albeit clumsily.

A brief giggle escapes her lips. What a weird man.

“Hurry up, Ackerman.”

Why does he always forget that he’s an Ackerman as well? “Yes, captain.” 

“Damn it. I told you it’s Le—” he abruptly stops, shoulders slumping in exasperation. “Why do I always bother anyway?”

At this point, the murmuring of the crowd around them becomes sonorous. Mikasa could no longer easily ignore their gossiping.

“Woah. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier and the Girl Worth A Hundred Soldiers in the flesh.”

“They look like they get along pretty well.” 

“They’re living together so they must be married, right?”

“Oh my. Living together? Is that true?”

“You know the young peddler, Emil? He heard it from straight from Hange Zoë’s mouth.”

Mikasa is not startled by Levi’s resonating growl. “That infuriating woman. Stirring up trouble even when she’s not around for it.”

As he canters off, she follows suit and calls after him, “Aren’t you going to stop over your shop here?”

His jaw hardens. “Not when they’re treating us like circus attractions.”

This is an unusual sight. The captain is never swayed by the public’s opinion of him, nor anyone else’s opinion of anything for the matter. Mikasa also couldn’t care less about them. 

“We’ll reach Trost a little after dusk. Let’s stay in my shop there for the night.”

* * *

“Levi, my little man!”

A tall, burly brunette man comes barreling toward the captain as soon as the latter unmounts from his raven mare in front of his Trost tea shop.

Levi skillfully dodges the cordial man, and Mikasa is astounded that the captain lets the man off with only a menacing glare. “Do it one more time, Gerard.” 

“Haven’t seen you for two months,” Gerard beams at him jovially. Has it really been that long? “I forgot how touchy you are—” 

The taller man’s jaw slackens when Mikasa enters his line of sight while she ties the horses to the wooden hitching post. “And who’s this angel?” 

As he looks down at her, Mikasa is bewildered to see green eyes a few shades lighter than Eren’s. 

Out of habit, she offers him her hand for a shake. “Mikasa Ackerman.” 

Without hesitation, his tanned hand grabs hers and plants a kiss on her knuckles. “Honored to meet the Girl Worth A Hundred Soldiers. The songs don’t do damn justice to your beauty.”

“You’re too kind.” She recoils on the inside. Apparently, people have already written songs about her.

Just as she withdraws her hand, Gerard crashes on the ground with a pained grunt. Directly behind him, the captain lowers his foot and sneers at the fallen man. Now, there’s his typical violence.“Don’t leave the shop unattended, you brute.”

“You ain’t sharing, huh?” Gerard barks a laugh, wiping off his dusty trousers as he stands. 

She leaves the two men to their banter and steps closer to the tea shop, beholding the two-story establishment. Thanks to the moonlight, she can discern that the polished façade is painted with a pastel gray hue, bordering the clear display windows etched with the name  _ Kuchel _ and below it, a small pair of white wings.

The storefront has a traditional design, but several elements set it apart from other regular shops, like the intricate patterns of vines and leaves lacing the columns and the edges of the bulkheads, and the several pots of pretty flowers lining the base. 

The scene inside promises her warmth and coziness. Charming lamps light up each of the carved round tables which are occupied by a few customers graciously sipping tea from elegant cups while listening to the gentle tunes by the young man on the pianoforte.

The sight of this place simply sets Mikasa’s heart at ease.

“Doesn’t look like it’s owned by a grouchy old man, right?” Gerard sniggers from her side.

Mikasa absently inclines her head in approval, her fingers a bit jittery from anticipation. 

“What are you standing around for, Mikasa?” Levi is already at the entrance, holding the door open with a fairly satisfied expression on his face. “Come in.”

* * *

A warm, savory liquid trickles gingerly into Mikasa’s mouth. Black tea is no doubt the most bitter among the teas she has recently tasted, but the sharp, malty flavor and its earthy aroma successfully allure her. It is the captain’s favorite after all, Gerard had told her, moments after properly introducing himself as Levi’s childhood acquaintance.

On the other side of the table, a serene Levi sweeps his eyes all over shop, his own tea cup neglected. He seems thankful to have some peace and quiet after half an hour of exchanging greetings and small talk among his regulars.

“Kuchel is a beautiful name.”

His bluish grey eyes meet with hers, the reflection of the lamp’s flame flickering in his irises. He looks lost for a second and then he lowly responds, “Thank you. It was my mother’s name.”

The caffeine in her bloodstream fuels her brashness. “What was she like?”

Levi breaks the eye contact to study the lamp before him. What a tender expression. “She was lovely in every way.” 

An ache blooms in her chest, but not because of her past. She cannot take her eyes off his faint, bittersweet smile and the hint of softness in his bluish greys. 

“My mother was, as well,” she whispers.

A heavy hand rests on her shoulder, and it belongs to Gerard who is grinning down at her. “Mikasa, why don’t you play for us?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t play.”

“Oh! Hans can play for you. Can you carry a tune?”

“Not very well.” Great. Now she wishes that the cup clutched by her hand was full of ale instead of tea.

With Gerard’s lead, the few patrons left in the establishment throw her persistent encouragements and pleadings until their intense pressure pushes Mikasa off her chair and toward the pianoforte where a young musician sits. 

This must be Hans. His cheeks are really as red as freshly picked tomatoes. “You’re tired, aren’t you? I apologize about this.”

Reddening even further, the young man wrenches himself in a pose between a salute and a bow. He stutters out, “No problem at all! What shall I play for you today, my lady?” 

“My lady!” 

The small audience unanimously guffaws at his antics and sends teasing comments their way. They eventually settle down when Hans gathers his wits and reverently plays the first few notes of her requested song. 

Mikasa takes a deep breath and then the words tumble off her lips like falling autumn leaves.

_ “Oh, field flower that has bloomed, _

_ Ah, somehow, please tell me: _

_ Why is it that people hurt each other _

_ And fight? _

_ “Oh, flower that blooms with the asphalt, _

_ What can you see from there? _

_ Why is it that people _

_ Cannot forgive each other? _

_ “In the summer, the rain passed _

_ And the blue reflected, _

_Small, it rippled_ _In front of me,_

_ Without saying a thing. _

_ “What do you think _

_ When your friends wilt? _

_ With those leaves that do not carry words, _

_ How do you convey your love? _

_ “The summer sun is clouded _

_ And the wind fluttered. _

_ I _ _ shall sing _

_ The proof that life once existed _

_ For those who do not have a name.” _

* * *

When the last of the tearful patrons leaves Kuchel on its closing time, the remaining trio of Gerard, Levi, and Mikasa diligently clean the mess left in the wake of the business hours.

Gerard winks at her from the kitchen which is rackety with clanging tableware and running water. “Damn, Mikasa. You go around breaking hearts like this?”

She shrugs, putting the broom away. Perhaps there is some truth to Hange’s words from their recent meeting, although ridiculous.

Levi is dutifully watering the flowers outside when she goes out and leans on the shop’s column. Despite the ungodly hour, her mind is more than awake. This outcome is undeniably appropriate since she chose to consume black tea so late at night.

“Will they be fine when you do this at midnight?” 

He sighs. “It’s fine since the airhead in the kitchen forgot to water them this morning.”

She walks over to the flower pots and crouches down to caress the wet petals of the red primroses. 

“I didn’t know that you could sing so beautifully.”

Her fingers on the primroses freeze their ministrations. Did the captain just pay her a compliment?

“Thank you. My mother used to sing to me often.” Believe it or not, the song from earlier had served as her lullaby in her younger years. Depressing as it is. “It wasn’t a useful skill back in the regiment.”

“Of course,” Levi chuckles. “Did you think that the titans would fall at your feet when you belt out a sorrowful ballad?”

“I sure hoped so,” she snickers. “Armin once called me Shiganshina’s hidden siren.”

The dribbling of water from the sprinkling can ceases. It is only when Levi’s eyes widen that she registers what she has done.

Oh.

She has finally uttered Armin’s name aloud—so naturally and recalling him with much fondness—after four long years. Her previous attempts commonly trigger her episodes if she isn’t choked by the first syllable. This is something short of a miracle.

_ What is happening to me? _

And it is only when the captain kneels in front of her to swipe his thumb across her cheeks that she realizes that tears are spilling from her eyes.

“It’s okay.” His bluish grey eyes are kind. “Good job, Mikasa.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is an English translation (by Rei and mewpudding101 of Animelyrics.com) of EGOIST's Euterpe from the anime Guilty Crown. It's one of my all time favorites.


	6. Share It All

_ There is so much blood everywhere —on the cold concrete, her sweat-soaked clothes, her shivering hands, his torso, his steaming skin, his blond tresses, his delicate face. Someone, make it stop. Please. _

_ “Don’t give up, Armin.” Her hot tears wash away the scarlet stains on his ashen cheeks. The light in his beautiful blue eyes is growing dimmer by the second. “We’re going to play in the ocean again with Eren, okay?” _

_ If there’s a god out there, please save him. Please save her precious brother. _

_ “Mikasa, live on. Be happy. Please,” he rasps, his breathing shallower than before. “Tell that stubborn brother of ours as well.” _

* * *

Mikasa does not wake up alone in bed. She inhales the calming scent of soap and peppermint from the warm chest her tear-streaked face is pressed against. She scoots closer, finding comfort in the rhythm of slow, steady heartbeats. This must be solace.

One of the firm arms enveloping her waist moves to stroke her back soothingly. He teases her, “You’re being strangely docile.”

“Too tired to fight,” she mumbles sleepily. “Why are you here?”

“You passed out from crying.” His husky voice tickles her ear. “So I carried you here, but you won’t let go no matter what.”

And she thought that the black tea would keep her much awake. “Sorry.”

He hums. “Just go back to sleep. It’s still dawn.”

Mikasa likes Levi a little when he’s like this. He has never asked nor probed her on anything about her loss. He does not make her feel like she owes him an explanation—that she has to bare her heart and all its deepest pains—in spite of everything that he has done for her these past two months. 

_ ‘Stay, if you have to. But just leave me alone, Levi.’ _

“For that other night, too. I’m sorry.” She is aware now that hurt, sadness, and hopelessness all marred his lamp-lit, weary features that night. Not in a million years will she forget that image. She does not wish to see it again.

“Okay.”

He tightens his arms around her and positions his chin atop her head, the warmth of his body dissipating the cold, and yet she doesn’t feel an ounce of desire to push him away.

* * *

It is five minutes until noon when Mikasa trudges down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. In the tea shop, several customers gawk at her entrance while from the pianoforte, Hans waves at her like an enthusiastic puppy.

Levi is nowhere to be found.

“If you’re looking for Levi, he’s gone out to buy some stuff two streets over.”

Gerard emerges from the kitchen, balancing a tray with a single hand. He flashes her a toothy smile. “Figured you’re up from all the people’s gasps.”

He lays a loaded plate of sizzling lamb chops and mashed potatoes on an unoccupied table by the glass windows where Mikasa promptly sits down. Her mouth waters at the sight.

“Thank you,” she tells him. 

The older man takes the seat across from her while she takes her sweet time eating the delectable dish. The meat easily falls apart and seems to melt in her mouth, and the potatoes are delightfully creamy.

“You know, we don’t serve meals here. Only teas and pastries,” Gerard mentions in an amused tone. 

Before Mikasa can express her apology, he gives her a smile full of good-natured humor. “Levi—That little man barged into my room an hour before opening and demanded me to fix you up something good.”

“Are you certain you’ve got the right little man?”

“Oh, it’s him alright. The frown was a dead giveaway.” Gerard laughs heartily.

Mikasa reins in a snort and says, “I’m really sorry for the inconvenience.”

He waves her off. “No problem at all.” Then, he leans toward her like he is about to divulge a dangerous secret. “You’ve got him all wrapped around your pretty finger, young lady. Never seen him so uninhibited.”

Truthfully, Gerard couldn’t be more wrong. Mikasa would know. It is more painless fraternizing with a bull than the captain. And uninhibited? Levi is as inscrutable as ever. The mystery of the titans had already been solved, but not him.

Her thoughts must have been reflected on her face since the older brunette shakes his head, tutting loudly. “I seriously pity the poor man.”

Mikasa loses the chance to grasp his ambiguous comment when she witnesses a robbery unfolding in the store across the tea shop. Senses on high alert, she instinctively springs into action.

“Mikasa, no!” Gerard shouts after her. “Levi will rip me into shreds!”

* * *

It must be perpetually ingrained in the heart of anyone who had served in the scouting legion to protect the weak from being devoured without a moment’s hesitation and at all costs. This must be why Mikasa confronts the robbers of a jewelry store with nothing but a juicy lamb rib in hand.

She flings it at one of the three masked men, blinding him for a moment before punching him square in the jaw and knocking him out. It’s almost comical.

The other robbers prove to be difficult opponents, hardened by years of experience. Mikasa, though possessing an innate skill in fighting, has not engaged in hand-to-hand combat for four years and is making a few rookie mistakes. Thankfully, she has disarmed them of all weapons –at least, that’s what she presumes.

After throwing the second robber into the display cases which has shattered completely with his weight, she restrains the last robber in a headlock. 

“You oriental bitch!” he manages to snarl.

The brawn man in her grip thrashes aggressively, so she increases the pressure on his neck with arduous effort. But, without warning, her upper forearm is pierced by his small knife. 

Mikasa whimpers in pain and then delivers successive punches to the criminal until she is suddenly slammed by him into the ground, knocking the wind out of her. He tackles her, leering at her lecherously, and she loses it right then and there. With a burst of energy, she kicks his groin enough to send him flying into the main door.

And she just lies there on the floor, panting heavily and her heart beating furiously in her chest. Warm liquid seeps into her sweater, and she gropes for the item lodged in her abdomen and pulls it out. Holding it up, she confirms that it is the man’s blade.

To be perfectly honest… Shutting her eyes in exhaustion, she mutters, “I don’t miss this at all.”

Sensing a shadow looming over her, she opens her eyes again.

Levi is above her, his face contorted with rage.  _ “You fucking woman.” _

* * *

“Don’t mind the little man. He’ll come around,” Gerard whispers in Mikasa’s ear and exits the spare room with the tray of bloody bandages and painkillers. 

Levi sits by the window, looking out the street in the afternoon light, his mouth set in an austere line. Judging by the harsh strain of his jaw, Mikasa can guess that he will explode with everything he has to say to her if she talks to him. So, she tries to get comfortable under the sheets as much as she possibly can and take a refreshing nap.

Unfortunately, he won’t allow her. “Thanks to you. We’ll travel to Dauper a day before the wedding instead of a week.”

“I’ll be fine in two days.” Mikasa is lucky to not have sustained any damage to her vital organs. The cut in her stomach is not as deep as she thought it would be.

“You may be an Ackerman, but you’ll rip those stitches once you get on a horse.”

She still wishes to help Sasha and the others in the preparations. “I’ll pay for a carriage.” 

“Fine. But rest for three days.” His tone conveys finality. 

A tense silence ensues, but Mikasa dares to ask, “Are the ladies from the jewelry store alright?” She thinks she saw them rushing out during the scuffle, but she isn’t too sure since everything was a blur.

“Yes,” he spits out. “But what were you thinking, Mikasa?”

She shouldn’t have raised that question. “They were in dan—”

This time, he locks his cold silver gaze with hers. “There’s the fucking Military Police for that. You know better than to blindly face three seasoned criminals when you haven’t fought anyone in four years.”

If the captain had seen it happen, he wouldn’t stand by so idly either.

He looks away from her. “Do you still want to die?” 

“What?” Is she hearing things?

“Do you still want to die?”

“No!” What is he saying? “I never wanted to die in the first place.” More than anything, she will strive to honor that promise.

“So this is just you being stupid,” he breathes out deeply. “Go to sleep, Mikasa.”

As if on cue, a wave of drowsiness washes over her and her eyes droop, the strong painkillers taking effect. “My scarf, captain,” she mumbles, eyes drawing to a close. 

The floorboards groan under the weight of several footsteps. “It’s Levi, you troublesome woman.” Gentle, calloused fingers trace her cheek. “I’ll bring it to you later.”

* * *

“Fucking idiots killing all these flowers,” Levi swears, wrapping her dry, soap-smelling scarf around her neck. Mikasa is grateful that she could not detect the stench of blood from it anymore.

On the floor of the spare room lies a vibrant assortment of twenty or more bouquets from Kuchel’s worrying patrons. The mixture of flowery scents barrages Mikasa’s nose, making her sneeze twice. She hides under safety of her red scarf.

Another set of knocks resounds from the door.

Levi clicks his tongue impatiently. “What is it again?”

Hans, the blonde young musician, pushes the door open with a sheepish smile, carrying a large bouquet of fresh lavender roses. “I wish you a fast recovery, Miss Mikasa,” he stammers, handing the bouquet to her. 

“Thank you.” But before Mikasa could receive the gift, the captain intercepts it.

“Go back to the pianoforte, Hans, or I’ll deduct your wages,” Levi grumbles, tossing the bouquet to the growing pile.

“Yes, sir,” the young man replies despondently and leaves the room.

She grabs the neglected bouquet, grimacing at the crushed petals, and turns to the captain. “That was unnecessarily unkind of you.”

“Do you know what lavender roses mean?”

“No.” Her mother taught her the language of flowers, but she failed to mention the message behind the beautiful roses in Mikasa’s clutch. It must be along the lines of what Hans had said.

Noting the scowl on his face as he intensely stares at the bouquet, Mikasa wonders whether lavender roses signify something really appalling. 

“Nevermind.” The other side of the bed dips low as he sits, resting against the wall. Mikasa observes on, bemused by him.

“How do you find it here?”

Confused with his inquiry, she tilts her head slightly to the left.

“What do you think of the tea shop? Trost?” 

Does her opinion truly matter? But she humors him nonetheless, pondering on it earnestly. “It’s noisy.”

Levi snorts at that. “It’s a town. Of course it’s noisy.”

“It has many good people —at least, the ones who don’t come at me with a knife.”

The nearly affable aura from Levi dampens at the drop of the hat. “You can’t joke about that yet.” 

Mikasa rolls her eyes before placatingly offering, “I think this town is not bad.”

He sighs. “I assume that’s the most generous answer I can get from you.” 

She does not want to hear that from him, of all people. “Truthfully, it doesn’t hurt when things are lively every once in a while.”

“Would you like living in a town?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” she says softly. “Maybe partly why I built a cottage in the forest was because when I was younger, I also lived in one with my parents near Shiganshina.”

It takes a few minutes for Levi to speak, “I had lived in that shitty Underground for most of my life, so towns like this where there’s good people, good food, clean streets, and a whole lot of sunlight pretty much seal the deal for me.”

Mikasa confesses to herself that she misses this —their customary repartee developing into tranquil talks about things she’d rather not be known to anybody but, oddly, him. During their unlikely friendship in the war, she had sought comfort in these moments. It is refreshing that she can share this with him again.

“Hearing this from you, maybe I should come out from the shade of the forest and move to town, so I can frolic in the sun,” she suggests playfully.

There is a serious light in Levi’s bluish greys.  _ “Maybe you should.” _

Startled by their intensity, she carefully rises from the bed. “These flowers won’t arrange themselves.”

“No, wait—stay in bed, you dolt!”

Mikasa, who is treading with utter concentration as to not aggravate her wounds, sharply loses her balance at his angry command and plunges forward. Cursing her luck, she closes her eyes before colliding with the flower-strewn ground, but a familiar body cushions her fall.

“You and your recklessness, Mikasa,” Levi grunts from below her, his breath fanning the crown of her head. 

She lifts her head up and sees his face all scrunched up in pain. He glares at her weakly. “I’ve got you to thank for all the thorns puncturing my ass.”

And even though Mikasa may have torn up a stitch or two, quiet laughter bubbles in her throat until she lets herself go, guffawing uncontrollably above him.

He grasps her uninjured arm. “Your stitches!”

But she does not stop and after ten seconds filled with just her peals of laughter, she finds him chuckling at their shenanigans. Such a rare moment.

“Uh, did I come at a bad time?”

The humorous duo on the floor freeze at the hesitant voice, and simultaneously, their heads turn to regard the goateed man on the doorway who is holding a basket of daisies.

“Jean?”


	7. Want Your Feeling

“So what are you doing here, Kirstein?” Levi queries indifferently, sitting down after replacing the unraveled stitches on Mikasa’s abdomen. Unwontedly for her, heat remains in the aftermath of his fingertips touching her skin.

“What do you mean? I’m visiting Mika over here,” Jean scoffs, placing the dirtied bandages on top of the dresser and then dotingly patting her head with the same hand. Levi winces inconspicuously, causing her mouth to lilt into a small smirk.

“If word about a beautiful oriental woman injured after valiantly saving a jewelry store from robbers did not reach my ears, I wouldn’t have known she is here in the first place.”

That is…peculiar. She had assumed that Levi already informed Jean of their arrival —old squad member and all. Maybe the captain simply hates all the fuss.

Nonchalantly, Levi crosses his arms. “You live around here or something?” 

Jean’s hazel brown eyes are wide as saucers.“This is my hometown, captain! I also buy tea from your shop!”

Mikasa transfers the pleasant basket of daises from her side to the spot on the wooden floorboards directly below her. Somehow, she finds it unfair that Levi does not correct Jean for addressing him by his former title. “He’s just messing with you, Jean.”

The door steadily creaks open and a beaming Gerard greets the three occupants of the room. He happily proffers a tray with plates of baked chicken thigh and two generous slices of apple pie to an entranced Mikasa. This man is officially her favorite in Trost.

“One of you folks may want to help her.” The burly man withdraws from the room with a queer wink.

“I can feed myself,” Mikasa contests but she is admittedly struggling with slicing the meat with her non-dominant hand. It isn’t an attractive idea to have pain shooting up her arm if she ever tries to perform tasks with the wounded right limb.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Levi scolds her, taking the tray from her lap and planting himself beside her. Intently, he begins cutting the chicken thigh and apple pie into smaller, even-sized portions. 

On a whim, she studies his engrossed demeanor. His silky black locks curtain over his hooded bluish grey eyes, his thin brows barely furrowed and lips set in a firm line. Perhaps all the years without sunlight are behind the upkeep of his youthful features.

Before Levi came to upset her quiet life in the forest, when was the last time anyone had taken care of her like this? Like she is a dear person worthy of being attended to?

When he is finished, he settles the fork on her left palm. “Eat slowly.”

A soft smile naturally forms on her lips.

“Thank you, captain.”

His responding sigh is of fond resignation. “It’s Levi.”

Regaining control of his gaping jaw at the display before him, Jean nervously poses them a question as Mikasa starts to eat. “Did the two of you elope while we were gone?”

She manages to avoid choking on a piece of meat by a small margin. “What?” Has he lost his mind?

Jean’s hazel brown eyes narrow in suspicion. “Hange wrote to me about your stay in Mika’s cottage, but is it really that simple?”

“Whatever it is, it’s none of your damn business, Kirstein.” 

The younger man gives the captain a look that pledges he will keep a close watch on them. “So, Mika, when will you guys head for Dauper?”

“In four days.” She remains unamused by the extended bed rest.

“Why don’t we all go together?” he proposes. “The carriage ride will be free of charge, of course.” Like Sasha and Connie, Jean has established a business of his own after the war, one that grapples with the large demand for transportation now that everyone is free to roam the whole island.

“Alright.” How convenient. “Much obliged for your help, Jean.”

She receives an elated grin for that. “Nonsense. Anything for my lovely friend.”

Levi rises to his feet and proceeds to drag the goateed man by the forearm. “It’s getting late. She needs her rest, Kirstein.”

Although miffed by the captain’s actions, Jean waves at her before disappearing out the doorway. “I’ll be back, Mika!”

She is relieved that she can finally reserve all her attention to her food.

* * *

“You’re here,” Mikasa yawns, covering her mouth. She twists her body to the left to face him, the bed slightly bouncing with the movement. “Did I cling to you again?”

“Yes.” From the opposite edge of the bed, Levi reaches to comb back the stray locks of dark hair sticking to her face. There are no traces of fatigue on his moonlit features. “Are you close with Jean?”

So out of the blue. “Not really. He only stops by my cottage from time to time —just like the others.”

A flicker in his bluish grey eyes. “Others?”

“You know, our old team.”

“Does everyone call you by that name?”

“What name?”

“Mika.” It sounds entirely different from his mouth.

“Sasha and Hange started it,” she recounts hazily. “My complaints always fell on deaf ears, so I guess this is my fate now.”

“Your name, as it is, seems better,” he utters seriously. “It’s already beautiful.”

Suddenly shy, she turns her gaze downward. “You’re being strangely flattering.”

Levi stays silent at her chaff and Mikasa watches their hands lying on the soft covers between one another, mere inches apart. In one swift motion, her hand is clasped in his.

She pulls her hand away, but with lesser strength than she means to. “What are you—”

Levi’s hand chases her retreating one and takes it once again, interlacing his fingers with hers. It’s warm. “I can’t embrace you for the night with those injuries, so let’s settle with this.”

Her mouth becomes dry. “And why would you embrace me?”

“For the same reason that I’m holding your hand.” She feels a tight squeeze on her said hand. “It’s because I want to.”

Heat spreads like wildfire from her face to the tips of her toes. What has made the captain so bold to her like this? Is this part of his crass sense of humor? Or is he talking in his sleep?

“Are you sleepy, captain?” she asks, almost stuttering her words out.  _ Hell,_ can Hans’s restlessness be possibly contagious?

“Not one bit. And it’s Levi to you, Mikasa.”

Against Mikasa’s bitter judgement, she unintentionally lifts her gaze and catches his searing bluish grey orbs. They are shining like silver again, and she cannot help but flinch.

“Well, I am.” Gulping, she forces her eyes shut. “Goodnight.”

Levi’s chuckle is one that she can never bring herself to hate, even if it is at her expense. “You weren’t so opposed to the hug last time.”

Now he’s being annoyingly cheeky. “I was tired, is all.”

“Whatever you say.”

With drowsiness draping over her senses, she is finally lulled to sleep by the feeling of her palm caressed so gingerly by his thumb.

* * *

When the third day of her bedrest rolls in, Mikasa could not stand everyone’s coddling anymore. Although her reaction is ironic since she was perfectly willing to remain in bed two months prior, she is itching to get away from this stifling spare room.

After brushing her unwashed hair and dressing in more fitting garments, she quietens the thud of her footsteps as she traipses down the stairs. It is a little after dinner, and the number of patrons in Kuchel is significantly lesser than what she had seen in her first night in Trost. Neither Levi nor Gerard are in sight.

Blessedly, the remaining customers have been too distracted by their own chatter and the festivities outside to notice her quitting the building. She pulls the hood of her maroon cloak over her head before blending in the thickening crowd.

When Gerard brought her scrumptious lunch today, he noticed her grey eyes scanning the colorful street banners hung by the residents outside her window. According to him, on the first week of August of every year, Trost commemorates the liberation of the island from the pure titans in 851 and additionally, the victory against Marley in 856.  _ Fest der freien Vögel,_ they call it. The Feast of the Free Birds.

“Levi didn’t tell you because you might force your way out,” the burly man had explained apologetically. “You’re plenty antsy as it is.”

Aside from that, maybe the captain is not a fanatic of raucous laughter in the air, shrilly music, booming fireworks, mouth-watering street food, and being in close proximity with the sweat-slicked bodies of strangers. In their original itinerary to Dauper, he even made no mention of enjoying the festivities in Trost. 

“Well, never mind him,” she murmurs absentmindedly, surveying the view around her. 

The concrete roads are illuminated by lanterns of colors blue, brown, green, and white. Some of the children are prancing around in large pairs of wings, giggling mirthfully, while for every five adults she passes by, there is at least two with a jug of beer in hand. Lovers dance merrily to the exuberant tunes of the bagpipes, drums, tambourine, and vielle, and on the other hand, overly competitive teenagers goof around in carnival games. A rather large theater plays host to a reenactment of humanity’s battle against the titans with the actors in 3DMG props dramatically slicing the nape of the giants and the audience roaring triumphantly. 

And although she ate supper thirty minutes ago, she makes a beeline for the long line of food stands. Taking out her pouch, she buys two steaming sausages with bread rolls and a platter of slowly roasted ox, vegetables, red wine sauce, and potatoes. She feasts on the delicacies, sitting on a peaceful curb away from the dense throng of festival-goers. This is certainly the life.

When she returns the plates and utensils to the stall keepers, someone taps her on the shoulder and gives her a start.

“Mika, is that you?” Jean is quite bewildered to see her. “How’s your condition?”

She dips her head in assent. “I’m almost fully recovered now.”

“Happy to hear that. Though your Ackerman abilities still make me envious.” He sighs wistfully before taking on a playfully admonishing tone, “Judging from the cloak, you snuck out, didn’t you? The captain will track you down, that’s why you’re on edge.”

Will Jean be anything other than forthright? No, much to her chagrin. “Since when has he been my keeper?”

He quirks a dubious brow. “I should be the one asking you that.”

Mikasa attempts to dodge the ensuing subject by striding toward the next street on the right which is bustling with challengers partaking in carnival games. Jean is struggling to match her speed because of the onslaught of wandering people, losing her for a moment and then trailing her cloaked form to the shooting gallery.

“Need help with that?” he asks. She can hear the grin in his voice as she takes more than a minute to perfect her aim at her target, a wooden carving of the captain a good distance away. His glowering miniature is glaringly shorter than their comrades' counterparts, barely reaching Jean’s waist. Because of this, she is desperately trying to suppress her guffaws and the tremors of her hands from the effort of doing so.

“Did you come here with a companion?” she questions, keeping her voice even.

“Yeah, I lost her in the crowd moments ago. It’s highly probable that she has found the theater by now and is too entertained to remember me.”

Her cork rifle finally pops and the mini-captain falls off the shelf. The gallery owner hands it to her in impressed awe.

He snatches the miniature from her grip, chuckling at its exaggerated stature. “Honestly, I’m not surprised that you two are getting along just fine. You were also his favorite back in the old days, you know?” 

She scoffs, “Yes, I was liked by him well enough to be riddled by rubber pellets from his gun in every practice.” 

“You know better than anyone why he had to do so, Mika.” 

Yes, she does. Aside from the captain, she had the best chance of survival out of the squad and Levi helped her maximize this under his rigorous tutelage. This was for the sake of completing the mission at all costs, especially if everyone else were to become…casualties.

Jean places the wooden carving on her palm. “Putting aside your priceless value as a soldier, he has liked for who you are —like the rest of us do.”

Stoic, cold, and sarcastic. If Mikasa met herself, the only emotion that would exist between them is aversion. It is a miracle that more friendships entered her life and continued on till this day.

“I recognize that face,” he says, ruffling her hair from under her hood. “One day, you’ll see yourself the way we see you, and the world will be infinitely better.” Sometimes, with the reassurance evident in his hazel brown eyes, Jean really resembles an older brother.

His kind smile suddenly turns smug. “By the way, we were actually privy to your secret meetings with the captain long ago.”

_ “What nonsense are you talking about?” _

“You know, your private talks when you skipped mealtimes together, or finished sparring, or when he accompanied you on nightly patrols.”

“Those were not  _ secret. _ And did the lot of you eavesdrop on us?”

“No, nothing of the sort! Every time we sent someone to find you guys, that person always ended up returning at once. Hange was a challenge to restrain, though.” 

“I can’t believe this.” Is privacy no longer respected in society?

“It may be hard to tell, but the captain is a good man, Mika. He also cares about you a lot.”

“What are you trying to say, Jean?”

“It’s just…I know he has coaxed you out of that little cottage of yours, Mika, and you’re looking better because of it,” he speaks, almost grave. “Hold on to each other. Don’t deny yourself happiness.”

Everyone around her is so utterly invested in her present arrangement with the captain. Hange had told her something similar. Gerard had also remarked about Levi’s uncharacteristic behavior concerning her—as if she is  _ special _ to him. 

Do Levi and his dependable presence carry weight with her own happiness?

Jean shakes his head, lips curved to an affectionate smile. “At twenty-five, you’re still oblivious to these things, aren’t you?”

Mikasa cannot reply because from behind him, she sees something that causes her heart to stop. A wave of festival-goers pour out into the street from the direction of the theater, wearing masks painted with the faces of her fallen comrades. Commander Erwin. Moblit. Miche. Lynne. Henning. Gelgar. Nanaba. Lauda. Rashad. Tomas. All who died.

“Mika, what’s wrong?”

Eren. Armin. Their faces are everywhere.

Mikasa heaves shallow breaths, gravity wrenching her knees to the ground. The weight of the whole world oppresses her body. She can’t see. She can’t hear. She can’t breathe.

_ Fuck. _ She was supposed to be long past this. Not here. Not in front of a friend. 

An unfamiliar hand clenches her cold forearm. “Mikasa, what do I do?” It’s Jean. He sounds frightened. No, no, no. She’ll be fine. She’ll banish their vivid faces from her mind.

“Get out of the way, Kirstein.”

And she is gently lifted off the cement by a slim frame, and her surroundings move. The scent of soap and peppermint wafts her way. An anchor.

“Levi,” she rasps brokenly, clutching his clean shirt. “Levi.”

“I’m here, Mikasa.” 

The soothing circles drawn on her back gradually bring her back to reality.

“Close your eyes and breathe, Mikasa,” he directs her, tugging off her hood and shifting her position in his arms so that he can press his temple on hers. “Don’t think. Just breathe slowly.”

She mimics the rhythm of his steady breathing. 

“That’s it. You’re doing good.”

“Levi, my scarf?”

“It’s alright. It’s wrapped around your neck. Now breathe slowly, Mikasa.”

She obeys him, and after an eternity, her heartbeat normalizes and her own warmth returns. 

Opening her eyes, his distressed countenance before her becomes crisp. And oddly, she can’t help but think it’s a beautiful thing; some creases surface on his forehead, his brows are hardly knitted, his small frown twitches at one corner, and the emotions swirling in his bluish grey orbs breaks her heart a little. Was this the same expression he had the first time he saw one of her attacks? Or was it worse?

“You’re so stubborn. There’s a reason why I never told you about this festival,” he chides her without the usual bite, sauntering on an empty road brightened by lanterns. “They have that twisted tradition, and I was hoping this wouldn’t happen again.”

As if it is the most natural thing in the world, her right hand reaches out to palm his cheek. “Thank you, Levi. And I’m sorry.”

She can feel him tilt his head slightly toward her touch. The pale moonlight gleams on his silky black tresses. His stare is startlingly tired yet tender. 

An acute sting on her left hand draws her attention away from him and she opens her tightened fist. There, on her reddened palm, is the captain’s wooden miniature. She had been gripping on it for dear life all long.

His strides cease.  _ “Is that supposed to be me?” _

“Yes.” It is too late to deny now. “But please reserve the teasing for tomorrow.”

“Who says I’ll tease you?”

“Are we near the tea shop yet?” she mumbles.

“Only a block away,” he chuckles at her poor evasion. “And if you’re truly sorry about tonight, don’t stir up trouble for our trip tomorrow.”

Her body turns limp with weariness, eyes shut and her smile somnolent. Again, she has found solace in his arms. “I won’t. I promise.”

Silently, Levi cradles her head on his warm chest and looks up at the full moon, yellow and gibbous on the dark blanket of stars. His sigh is content.

“You just need to stay with me, Mikasa. I’ll keep you safe.”


	8. Desire

_ The smoldering embers of the campfire drift upward and glow like stars in Levi’s bluish grey orbs. “What do you plan on doing after the war, Ackerman?” _

_ He is so sure that we will live through to see the end of the war. “How optimistic of you, captain.” _

_ “I’ll open a tea shop,” he interjects, ignoring Mikasa’s dark jab. “Possibly a black tea shop.” _

_ Prompted by his candid reply, she considers her future a little more earnestly. “I’ll stay at home and eat good food.” _

_ The captain does not mock the simplicity of her dream. “You won’t go and explore the ends of the earth with Jaeger and Arlert?” _

_ “No.” They are already grown men, and she is contented with Paradis. Even with the distance, they remain inseparable. “I’ll just see them off and welcome them when they return.” _

_ He nods in understanding. _

_ “How about marriage?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Marriage. Tying the knot. Plighting your troth. Or whatever shit you call it—” _

_ “I know what marriage is, captain.” His spotless boots appear ideal for stomping. “I just have no care for it. Who would take me anyway?” _

_ “One of your million fanatics—Kirstein, perhaps,” he snorts. “Is this thing such a far-fetched notion to you?” _

_ “Right now, yes.” Not when they can drop dead anytime. Not when every tomorrow needs to be fought for. But honestly, she cannot imagine herself indulging in the throes of love. It is a subject so foreign to her. _

_ “Only time will tell, Ackerman.” She feels a sense of foreboding at his solemn tone. “Maybe you’re in for a surprise one day.” _

_ Like hell she is. _

* * *

Beneath Mikasa’s hand, the last of the remaining warmth on the cotton blanket next to her ultimately dissipates and a whine resonates from her throat. If she were completely conscious, she would have hid under the covers in embarrassment of that childish blunder.

A hand lightly touches her ankle. “What are you doing over there?”

She bolts awake, cheeks heated and dark hair in several knots. How unflattering. Levi sits at the foot of her bed, tranquilly sipping from a cup in fresh, pristine clothes. 

“White tea,” he tells her, his bluish greys intrigued, and hands out a dainty porcelain teacup. “It’s to wake you up.” 

Today’s tea is different, but the aroma entices her nonetheless. A delicate, subtly sweet flavor envelopes her tongue. Perhaps, this is one of the most refreshing of the types she has tasted.

With the rim of the cup touching her lips, she glimpses him. The dark circles under his eyes, though now faint, endure over the years. “Whenever I slip out of sleep, you’re always awake, Levi.”

He blinks at her, stunned at maybe the novelty of her complying with his recurring request, before replying, “I still am a light sleeper.” He still is because it is partly her fault.

“I heard you have insomnia.” Not really. But it was obvious to anyone who was brave enough to look him in the face during their scouting legion days.

“It’s only getting better,” he says, pausing momentarily. “Chamomile helps a lot.”

When she has emptied her cup, he turns to her with a slight upward quirk to his lips. “So about that figurine of me…”

The said wooden figurine is dashingly posing on the night stand beside her. She frowns at the small thing, embarrassment stinging her cheeks once again. “You aren’t letting that go, are you?”

“No need to be ashamed. Among the lot, I am the most exemplary individual.”

She snickers, breaking the silence that ensued after his confident declaration. Who knew he could be this pompous? “Get off your high horse, Levi. I was aiming for Hange’s, but the cork swerved.”

“Please,” he scoffs at her in return. “You can even shoot an ant with your eyes closed, Mikasa.” There he goes again with another offhand compliment. Is this really the stingy captain she once knew?

Pleased at the change of subject, she presses on, “You flatter me. I once mistakenly shot Jean’s ass with a rubber pellet or two, remember?”

_ “Or two,” _ he repeats, one corner of his lips lifting into an amused smirk. “I never believed it was mistaken, even for a second.”

Rightfully so. Jean was exceptionally clingy that particular day. Thank God he has changed.

“Do you want to spar again for old times’ sake?” Mikasa has yet to exact revenge for all the sessions Levi ruthlessly sent a rain of rubber pellets her way.

There is a spark of challenge in his eyes. “Some time after the wedding.” And Mikasa is suddenly reminded of the fact that he will stay with her for three more months. “Prepare yourself, Mikasa.”

She scoffs at him in mock offense. “I should be saying that to you, Levi.”

A deep chuckle arises from his chest and Mikasa pauses, reveling in the rare sound. 

“Do you want to stop by here once we return to your house after the wedding?” he suggests, tucking a lock of her black hair behind her ear. She squashes the urge to flinch at the brush of his finger on the shell of her ear. 

She swallows and then nods a little too excitably for her liking. “I’m fine with that.” Perhaps, this town has slowly crept into her heart.

“We’ll set out in an hour and a half —if Kirstein’s on time,” he announces, rising from the bed and gathering both of their cups on the tray. “Wash up and get down for breakfast.”

The door shuts with a hushed click as he withdraws from the room, and she lets herself fall back into her plump pillows, resting an arm over her eyes.

_ ‘You just need to stay with me, Mikasa. I’ll keep you safe.’ _

How silly. He already does. Now and then, he has always kept her under his protection.

But if he is promising her safety, what does she make of the unnatural, disquieting thumps in her chest roused by his presence?

* * *

Mikasa is no longer unheeding of it now. The way Levi wraps her red scarf around her slim neck has always been gentle —and dare she say,  _ reverent. _ His bluish grey gaze is strangely soft, not thoroughly reticent, and the warmth of the pads of his careful fingers permeates through the fraying cloth. It is like he recognizes that this flimsy material is an extension of herself, even though he expresses his distaste for it at times.

His dark lashes flutter as he regards her. “No surprises today, Mikasa.”

“Yes, old man,” she quips, pushing Kuchel’s door open. As she makes her way down the entrance steps, she does not hear his catlike strides following her. She turns to look back at his somewhat hunched figure rooted on the same spot.

“Levi?” Is he unwell? His complexion was good moments ago.

The captain blinks as if he is snapping himself out of a trance and catches up to her, muttering, “Just so you know, I’m only forty.”

Is he  _ sulking? _ Why is he offended now when everyone has been playfully calling him that for years? Heck, she called him an old man a month ago.

For the first time, she feels conscience-stricken about her teasing. “Levi, I—”

“Mikasa!” The entrance door clamorously wrenches open, and a grinning Gerard sweeps her into his muscular arms. “Don’t think you can just slink away without so much as a hug!”

Mikasa freezes at the unexpected physical contact, but then she forces herself to awkwardly pat the brawny man’s back before being pulled away from his clasp by a benign yet firm hand on her wrist.

“Don’t alarm her like that.” From beside her, Levi berates him, “She’s still recuperating.” 

To appease the captain, Gerard lifts his hands up and flashes him a knowing grin that she cannot decipher. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” With his grip still on her wrist, Mikasa gives Levi a little tug. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I’m almost fully healed, Levi.” Save for the occasional trivial aches, she is able to function now without cautious restraint. 

Honestly, she is thankful for the captain’s intervention. She remains not too keen on being subjected to physical contact initiated by others. She is also yet to completely warm up to her old team, but Levi—

She has been mystified by this for a long while, but why is she unruffled with Levi touching her? Even now.

Her train of thought is abruptly derailed by a pretty bouquet of stargazer lilies thrusted into her face. “Have a safe trip, Miss Mikasa.” 

Although she cannot see him, she can recognize the bumbling giver of these flowers. “Thank you, Hans.” 

Taking the stargazer lilies from the young man, she giggles softly as she recalls their message from what Mama had taught her. “I haven’t left yet, but you miss me already?”

“Uh,” he echoes dumbly, a blush overtaking his face, before being shoved aside by the several Kuchel regulars who wish to approach her. 

Sweet Granny Rheta pushes a bag of chocolate chip cookies to her and coos, “Do come again, sweetie, and meet my grandson.” Hartman, the butcher from Siegesallee Boulevard, gives her a pack of pork cutlets while proclaiming, “Trost will miss a beauty like you walking its streets.” 

Lisbeth, the mother of one of the clerks from the previously robbed jewelry store, places a pair of leather gloves on top of the other gifts on Mikasa’s hands and smiles at her tenderly. “Another token of my family’s gratitude. Plus, it’s almost fall.” 

And before Mikasa can correct the friendly tailor for calling her ‘Missus Ackerman’ as he thanks her for her service in the war, she faintly hears Levi grumble in the middle of the commotion surrounding her. “You’re all pleasant folks, but you’re delaying our journey!”

But with all these people lining up to bestow her gifts, Mikasa does not concern herself with the lack of air or the feeling of stuffiness that comes with their close proximity. At the present moment, she is engulfed by their warm appreciation and open affection —emotions the little child in her would like to receive every once in a while.

* * *

The pork cutlet is a little piece of heaven in Mikasa’s mouth. Although it is not even noon, the ruckus at Kuchel had induced her hunger. 

“It’s been a long time since you smiled like that,” Jean mentions casually as he aids Levi in sorting the last of her non-perishable gifts on the spotless floor of the moving carriage. By the sheer number, one would think she is the bride of the wedding.

“Smiled like what?” Did she smile at the patrons earlier? She had not noticed. 

With the task accomplished, the goateed man leans back on his leather seat across her, his hazel brown gaze straying to the display of Trost’s calm outskirts outside the window. “Like you did when they were still—”

_ “Kirstein.” _

Jean starts and even Mikasa slightly flinches at the captain’s icy tone. She has not heard it for a long time. “Your service is shit.”

Jean pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “Any more beyond the current speed will have the Military Police on our tail, captain.”

The unmistakable click of the tongue from her left is expected.

Mikasa will never know the rest of Jean’s interrupted answer since she forgets it by the time Levi snatches the bouquet of stargazer lilies from her lap.

He mumbles grumpily, “Fucking Hans. Killing flowers at every opportunity.”

“It’s too late for that,” she admonishes. It is such an oddly appropriate trait of his: being protective of flowers —or maybe, life in general. “Besides, they are beautiful.”

“I hate to give it to him, but they are,” he admits. There is a ghost of a smile on her lips at the contrast between his knitted brows and his eyes looking on at the lilies with favor.

Regaining her composure, Mikasa slips a hand into the bag of cutlets to share some to her two companions, but then Jean’s refined carriage sharply jerks forward and a sturdy arm promptly snakes around her waist, preventing her from falling off her seat.

Levi’s growl is distinct behind her ear.  _ “Kirstein.” _

_ “God, _ captain—I absolutely have no control over that!” her goateed friend splutters, bracing himself with a hand on the window. “Are you okay, Mika?”

“Fine,” she snickers despite herself. All this fuss over a little bump in the ride.

The captain’s arm unwinds from her waist, and she steadies her form on the seat, her cheeks finally left to cool off. “Thank you, Levi.”

He grunts in response, bending forward to arrange the toppled items on the floor. 

Wishing to do something after the awkward exchange, she hands the exasperated Jean a pork cutlet. Thankfully, no meat dropped out of the packaging. “Didn’t you say someone will be joining us?”

He gives her his thanks and gobbles up the cutlet in no time. “She got held up by a family matter. We’ll see her on the wedding day.”

Mikasa has an inkling as to who this character might be from meeting him at the festival last night, but she does not inquire more since they will be introduced to each other soon.

After an hour, she and the captain are completely enamored by the now thriving countryside of Wall Rose. Jean, on the other hand, ceases his unconsciously shaking leg. Perhaps, he has grown tired of listening to the sound of hooves striking the pavement and the constant rattle of the vehicle, and therefore he longs for an idle chat. Although, Mikasa and Levi are not exactly the most loquacious individuals.

‘Idle chat’ be damned. She does not like the devious glint in Jean’s hazel brown eyes. “So, are you still warding off your suitors, Mika?”

Why was she so skeptical of it before? She has now confirmed that, sadly, Jean is out of his wits. “I’m not having this conversation.” On her left, Levi is quiet.

“Who do you like best?” It takes all of her willpower not to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off his face or rip out his goatee. “Is it Nisse? Out of the bunch, he is the most good looking and his family is quite well-to-do.”

Was that his name? Mikasa has to give it to Jean for remembering one of them so clearly. "This  _ problem _ was dead and buried three years ago."

_ "Was it?" _ he singsongs. "Now we're on the subject, what kind of men do you prefer, Mika?"

_ Dear God. _ If she can leap out the carriage... "Mind your own damn bu—"

"Yes," the captain speaks up, his voice without inflection. "Care to tell us, Mikasa?" 

Mikasa can only blink at Levi's impassive visage, her stomach twisting in mortification. He isn't one to be interested in superficial topics such as this. And why is he encouraging Jean?

The said goateed man practically grins. "Do you like the young, strapping ones?"

"Jean–"

"—The rich and elegant?"

"This is ridicu—"

"—The adventurous and passionate?"

_ "No." _

"The polite and chivalrou—"

_ "Fine," _ Mikasa grits out, seething in anger, and throws her hands in the air. "If it finally shuts your mouth, I like mature and dependable men!" 

She does not know where the hell that answer came from, but it seems right.

The audience of two stares at her in awe of her outburst. And when a fierce blush promises to cover her entire features, she seizes the wool blanket from the pile of gifts on the floor and drapes it around herself, snuggling hastily into the right end of the passenger seat. 

"Wake me when we get there," she murmurs, closing her eyes.

Any excuse to avoid facing Levi right now will do.

* * *

"Mikasa." Calloused fingers graze her temple, the touch featherlike. "We're here."

Little by little, it is becoming natural now. Seeing Levi the first thing when she awakens, that is. And there is that unfaltering gaze of his —ensnaring and frightening her at the same time. 

"Why is it when I sleep," she muses. "I always find my way to you?"

Without warning, something close to a smile graces his lips. "What do you think?"

"Soap and peppermint," she unwittingly blurts out, distracted by his serene expression.

"Come again?"

Registering the implication of her absent reply, she covers her mouth. "Nothing."

"Your reaction says otherwise," he points out, a smirk curving his mouth. "Where do 'soap and peppermint' fit in all of this?"

"We should greet Sasha and the others now, Levi." 

She tries to stand but a pair of hands secure themselves on her shoulders, locking her in place. 

"I'm not opening the door until I've heard a proper reply." 

Thank the heavens Jean is nowhere near them.

She crosses her arms, scowling. "Why are you so insistent about this?" 

"I'm simply curious."

Usually, he does not press on when she switches the subject or says generic or noncommittal responses to questions that make her ill at ease. It is imprudent to resort to physical altercation, so there is no other way around this predicament but to answer him frankly.

She refuses to make eye contact and whispers, "Your scent."

"A bit louder."

"Your scent," she enunciates, silently pleading with all her might for the ground to swallow her up. "It's soap and peppermint." On a separate note, the presence of peppermint is a mystery, unless he secretly drinks peppermint tea every day without her knowledge.

The seat sinks as he leans in toward her. "So, in your sleep, you hold onto me because you like my scent?"

She glares at her shoes, her nails digging into her palm. That is a crude way of putting it. "I don't know—"

A bright stream of sunlight spills into the shadowy interior of Jean's carriage.

"Mika—Ah!" A bob-haired woman screams at them from the open door, stumbling backwards. It's Sasha.

Connie emerges from behind the flabbergasted Sasha and catches her. "What's wro—" Peeking inside, his jaw slackens instantly.

Jean's guffaws echo from a distance. "What are you pair of idiots so scared of?"

_ "The captain," _ Connie stutters. "The captain is smiling!"

* * *

"Have you lost all common decency?" Mikasa makes out Jean's shriek from the dining room. "Letting your exhausted guests cook your lunch when they've only just arrived?"

She is a bit relieved that he does not overlook the injustice in this. She finds greater joy in devouring food rather than preparing it. 

Now that she thinks about it, he may be defending them but why doesn't he help?

"Come on, Jean," Sasha groans. "It's Mika and the captain we're talking about. They've got plenty of energy. Don't you want decent food?"

"A lack of decent food isn't even possible here when you've got servants around, you dolt! You're lucky the captain isn't officially our captain anymore." 

"Hey, hey, hey," Connie chides, albeit smugly at that. "That's my wife you're yelling at."

A pause. 

"You're not even married yet!"

Someone gently bumps their shoulder on her own. Beside her, Levi is carrying a silver gravy boat and a deep bowl of roasted garlic mashed potatoes. He motions to the large porcelain plate on the counter which holds a glorious stack of juicy steaks. 

They navigate out of the flawless, spacious kitchen and serve the dishes amongst the delighted exclamations of their comrades. Taking her seat on an ornately carved dining chair next to Levi, a peck delivered to her left cheek catches her off-guard and she turns to see Hange grinning at her from ear to ear.

"Miss me, Mika?"

_ "Hange!" _ Levi almost rises from his seat, revolted. "At least wash the grime off your face before joining us!" 

He hands a napkin to Mikasa who, in turn, begins passing the article to Hange but halts as soon as he shakes his head at her. This napkin must be for her cheek?

Mouth stuffed with food, Connie queries inarticulately, "Commander, we thought you'd spend the whole day holed up in that shed?"

Hange pulls a chair out, its legs gratingly scraping the floor, and sits on it —all the while beaming. "No need since I've finished building your gift." She none too gently rubs her grubby face with a sleeve, and Mikasa can hear Levi tutting in distaste. "And I couldn't forgo these two's cooking!"

Midchew, Sasha raises a brow at her. "I'll tell Leni you're not satisfied with her food."

"Not a word!" It is fortunate that Hange doesn't spit out crushed pieces of steak. "That spiteful old woman can kill me with just a ladle!"

Sensing Mikasa's confusion, Jean helpfully supplies, "She's their cook."

"Oh, it's Mika's first time here, right?" Sasha claps in excitement, a smear of gravy on the corner of her lips. "It's so nice to have the whole gang back in one place again!"

"We should have weddings more often then," Connie snickers.

Another helping of mashed potatoes is dumped into Mikasa's plate, courtesy of Levi. "You've been here, Levi?" she asks him, pushing a spoonful of gravy-dressed potatoes into her mouth. 

"Yes."

For a second, a perplexed look crosses Sasha's expression before she bobs her head at the captain's response. "Don't you remember, Mika? I told you we consult the captain about our business from time to time."

"I ask advice from him, too," Jean adds, then comments lowly, "Even if he's curt and uncivil."

Levi lowers at the goateed man across the table. "I heard that, Kirstein."

_ "Fuck!" _ Hange's strangled cry grabs the attention of everyone in the capacious room. She coughs violently, chunks of her lunch propelling from her mouth.

Mikasa immediately pats the former commander's back while Sasha comes rushing with a glass of water. The men, on the other hand, gape at the scene.

"This moron," the captain snarls. "Learn how to chew for once!"

Mikasa sighs. Now is seriously not the occasion to be an asshole.  _ "Levi." _

Hange downs the water in seconds, like a horse parched on a trek, and puffs in relief. Completely recovered, she wriggles her eyebrows at the captain. "Good wives listen to their husbands, Levi."

Anyone would have withered under Levi's sinister glare, but Hange only roars with laughter.

Connie gasps melodramatically, shifting his gaze back and forth between Mikasa and Levi.  _ "Shit. _ Did the two of you tie the knot behind our backs?"

" _Mika _ , you didn't," Sasha howls, hugging Mikasa's arm passionately. "You never planned to inform us that the captain is your wife? Have you forsaken our friendship?"

As Sasha tearfully peers up at her with an exaggerated pout, Mikasa can feel the beginnings of a pounding headache.

* * *

Dauper is no longer a sparsely populated settlement with its withdrawn inhabitants separated by acres and acres of wood. After the eradication of the titans, it has transformed into a vibrant, developing town after families of former refugees rebuilt their homes and started their lives anew. 

At the heart of this mountain forest lies Sasha and Connie's beautiful house. Out of humility, they never refer to it for what it is: a villa—one of the fruits of their prosperous vegetable plantation.

The villa's substantial size may have contributed to the fact that she hasn't seen the captain outside of mealtimes as of late. And of course, the women constantly whisking her away to partake in the wedding preparations is another unmissable factor. 

The afternoon before the most awaited day, she is kept occupied at the parlor by tying satin ribbons around petite mason jars of green tea leaves, which will serve as the wedding favors.

"Look at what I've found," Sasha chants as she reaches the end of the long flight of stairs. Abruptly, she dangles a very familiar figurine in Mikasa's line of sight. 

_ "Sasha!" _

She plucks it from the bride-to-be's clutches before Hange can, pocketing it straight away.

"Let me see it, Mika," Hange implores her, reaching for the side of her long skirt. Mikasa dodges the former commander's eager hands and scoots off to the corner of the room.

"Fine. I'll let this slide for now," Hange exhales loudly. "This has been a rough week for you anyway."

"That's very kind of you." 

On top of being stabbed by a criminal and ordered around by her friends, she has been thoroughly pestered by the same friends about her peculiar relationship with the captain for the latter half of this week.

_ 'First-name basis now, are we?' _

_ 'I bet my wedding ring that he was smiling because of you that day.' _

_ 'Levi would sooner throw me out on the street than take care of every little thing for me if I'm injured.' _

"The captain," Sasha begins but the harsh scowl Mikasa sends her coaxes a pathetic laugh from her throat. "The captain looks awfully glum these days."

"How would you feel if you didn't see Connie for a considerable amount of time?" From the lilt in Hange's tone, her fancy for the topic at hand is beyond measure.

Sasha hums thoughtfully before answering, "I would be  _ relieved." _

Mikasa cannot stifle her snigger. "You haven't even said your vows, yet you sound like an old spouse already."

"What I mean to say is," Hange expounds, grinning wider with every word. "Levi terribly misses the company of a particular person." 

Mikasa initially thought that Jean and Connie's rambunctiousness took a huge toll on him, hence the ever-present glower during meals. But, in actuality, he is missing someone?

"She doesn't get it, Hange," Sasha drawls lamentably, plopping on the chaise lounge.

"Remember the three walls weren't built in a day, Sasha."

* * *

Being efficient is one of Mikasa's defining qualities. It is apparent in the way she approaches her battles, conversations, tasks, and duties. So it is no surprise that she has also spent the past three days contemplating something of profound importance to her. 

And when night falls and she finds herself sitting on the front steps and adoring the customary set of twinkling stars, the scent of chamomile fills the air, a warm cup presses onto her chilly palms and once more, his bluish greys gleam silver under the radiance of the moon—and the last piece fits perfectly into place.

She has missed him. 

And even if she won't acknowledge it, every fiber of her being longs to be near this man of unwavering warmth.

It is a fragile and precious thing —that small smile of his when he confesses, "Nights without you can never be the same again." 

This fervid feeling, bursting from deep inside her, threatens to swallow her whole. It is bigger than her broken person, bigger than the tarnished moon looming above, bigger than the leering titans in her nightmares. She is not sure if her threadbare scarf is enough to protect her from this fate.

The sliver of the same fear in his eyes awakens something in her. 

"You took the words right out of my mouth."


	9. Champagne Kisses

In the wake of their raw confession, she does not know how it came to be, but his calloused hand now grasps hers, his gentle thumb tracing the ridges of her knuckles. Their cold teacups lie forgotten on the corner.

“These aren’t as sharp as before,” he says softly.

Her mouth is a dry desert, but she wills herself not to move away. “What are?”

“Your bones.” He turns their intertwined hands over to draw circles on her palm. His touch is electrifying. “It looks like my hard work has finally paid off.”

Was she so thin before? To the point of hideousness? “Are you attempting to vex me?”

Another minute smile curves his lips. “No, I’m just happy to see you healthy.” 

_ Happy. _ This is the first time she has heard that word from his mouth, and he is happy because of her. From her wellbeing to her heart, the extent of his care and protection overwhelms her.

Who is she to be cherished this much by this man? Is she even a woman worth all of this?

A thick emotion begins to prick her eyes.

“Mika—” Levi reaches for her face, but the loud crash of what sounds like several tableware on the ground freezes him in place.

_ “Commander,” _ Sasha’s screeches from the right side of the villa, destroying the peaceful night. “I told you we weren’t doing that. I don’t want to sweep pieces of porcelain the night before my wedding!”

“Then face Leni’s wrath! The old hag wouldn’t stop pestering me!”

“You could’ve said no! We didn’t even have a rehearsal dinner—”

Sasha is cut off by Hange’s cackles which are as manic as ever. “But I can’t  _ resist _ shattering these expensive plates!”

“Why am I not surprised?!” Seconds after the bride’s exclamation, another set of tableware is thrown to the ground. 

_ “Jean!” _ This time, it is Connie abusing his vocal chords. “Those aren’t even porcelain!”

“Shut your trap. This is for your happy marriage!”

_ “Polteraband,” _ Levi breathes out in displeasure, dropping his head. He rises after a few seconds, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“Okay.” She squeezes his hand while crash after crash and the couple’s protests ring in her ears. “I have to say it’s rare for Sasha and Connie to be the well-behaved ones.”

“Tell me about—”

_ “Oh, Mikasa and Levi!” _ Hange calls in a singsong tone once Mikasa crouches back down to pick up the serving tray. “We know you two are cuddling on the front steps. Come here and break the porcelainware!”

He tugs on her hand, forcing her to follow him. “Leave it, Mikasa.”

She stares at his back, dumbfounded. “You‘re leaving a  _ tea set _ out here, Levi?” 

“Do you only see me as a clean frea—”

“If the pair of you don’t come here in ten seconds, I’ll tell Mikasa everything you’re dying to say to her, Levi!” Hange’s voice picks up a hint of something sinister. 

The captain halts in his tracks for a few seconds, and then, with determined steps, he stiffly makes his way toward their friends’ vicinity with her in tow.

“What is Hange talking about?” 

But he never answers the question. Perhaps, he cannot hear her with all the ruckus.

* * *

_ There is no hope. _

_ It has never existed for them. Not then, not now. _

_ But in a world where its blazing agony rivals that of hell, she has him —her heart, her entire life. Even if death will finally sink its vicious claws on her in the next moment, she is happy that a sinner like her was granted a place by his side; her life has no greater purpose. _

_ And in his tearful green eyes, there burns a fire brighter than the unforgiving sun above, and he rejects the end of this wretched world—rejects their mortal destiny—as he vows that she will never have to go anywhere else. _

_ "I'll wrap that around you as many times as you want. Now and forever…as much as you want!" _

* * *

A furious set of knocks on the door jolts Mikasa awake in just a second while the warm body beside her jerks to the edge of the bed and tumbles on the floor with a resounding thud and an irked grunt.

_ "Fuck." _

She shifts her position to peer down at him. "Good morning."

Sprawled on the ground, Levi sweeps back his tousled dark locks, glaring at her halfheartedly. "Don't laugh."

"You don't have to wor—"

Against her better judgement, a couple of giggles escapes from her mouth, and abruptly, she is tugged toward him by the wrist. The whole world falls into place when her head lands on his soft chest and her waist is enveloped by his sure arms. 

It seems impossible to find the right words to encapsulate the nature of their relationship—it is so simple and simultaneously, so complex. From the way her own frame easily fits into his like perfect puzzle pieces and the way he treats her as if she is the dearest thing to ever exist, they cannot be mere friends nor comrades. 

"Mikasa, it's time to get ready!" Connie calls from outside. Mikasa wriggles in Levi's iron grip, attempting to get away from him, but the hinges of the white door start to groan and Connie enters the room. 

"I need the captain's help with the guests. Have you seen him— _ Holy shit." _ The door rapidly slams back shut. "At least tell me beforehand that you both aren't decent yet! And witnessing that on my wedding day—"

She rolls her eyes. They haven't done anything to warrant such an extreme reaction. "We'll be right there."

"Ten more minutes," the captain mutters, nestling his face into the crevice of her neck after unravelling her scarf. She smothers a gasp at the deliberate brush of his lips on her skin, a wildfire spreading from the point of contact to all over her face. Now, this is something Connie or anyone else must never stumble upon.

_ "Levi," _ she whimpers, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. "They're waiting."

_ "Mikasa," _ he whispers, the sensation of his breath on the shell of her ear making her quiver. One after another, his brazen actions have her reeling.

"What is it?" 

"Don't be too beautiful today."

* * *

Her sapphire blue dress has thin double spaghetti straps and a deep V-neckline that  _ definitely _ does not conceal her cleavage. It is outlined with seams at the bodice, and with the high slit, her left leg is indecorously exposed.

To make matters worse, Mikasa committed a blunder: she miscalculated her own measurements since she had been too stubborn to try the dress during her shopping trip with Hange weeks ago. It is obviously tight around her bust, and therefore, too provocative for the occasion. She cannot believe Hange persuaded her into purchasing this.

When she presents the garb to her companion, the former commander cannot keep her wolf-whistle to herself.

"Someone is going to die today, alright." She really isn't giving up on the  _ Man-Killer _ thing anytime soon.

Mikasa ignores her superior's quip. "Do you think I can get away with covering it with my scarf?"

"No!" Hange stands in protest. With her characteristic air of confidence, she is undeniably dashing in her maroon three-piece suit. "No doubt the colors will clash, and it's such a waste when you're so sexy."

So she says, but Mikasa reaches for her scarf draped on the chair beside Hange's. 

"Oh no, you don't." The older woman snatches the article first and bolts for the door with a self-satisfied grin. "I'm placing this in your room for safekeeping. Go to Sasha. I'll be there in a heartbeat."

Mikasa feels conflicted for a moment.

"Hey, I recognize that expression!" Hange squawks. "I promise that I won't harm your precious scarf in any way. Your distrust pains me!" 

"Fine," Mikasa concedes in defeat, despite recalling the scientist’s curiosity back in the day on the possibility of the red scarf amplifying her Ackerman abilities. "But Hange, I swear, if a  _ single _ thread is missing—"

The older woman looks like a cat that ate the canary.  _ “Oh?” _

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hange shrugs. “It’s just that you sound like the old man now. He is certainly rubbing off on you.” With that, she disappears from the doorway, her ebullient whistles reverberating in the corridors.

It is a tad ludicrous whenever the former commander refers to him as an  _ old man. _ They are roughly the same age.

Mikasa lifts a hand to stroke her bare neck, a sense of vulnerability shrouding her spirit. She supposes that a day without her scarf will be okay. Her attacks have dwindled into rare occurrences now, and  _ he _ is around.

If he is with her, she has nothing left to fear.

Nothing but him.

* * *

Sasha is a vision in white. Her brown hair, set in dainty curls, is pinned into a messy bun with an elegant fingertip-length veil and a trail of fresh baby’s breath flowers as the headpiece. Her sweetheart-necklined, ballgown-styled dress is of floral embroidered lace appliques that surround the unlined bodice and layers of cascading tulle. The rhinestones and pearls, which are arranged on the exquisite lace, sparkle under the sparse daylight filtering into the villa’s parlor.

Her smile is mirthful, cheeks aglow, while she stashes a pinch of salt and bread in a hidden pocket of her dress.

“Will you snack on that during the ceremony later?”

The brunette is unfazed, drunk with happiness. “No, it’s just another silly tradition. It’s an omen for good harvest. Connie also has a couple of grains in his trousers for good luck and wealth.” Mikasa now expects to enter a mansion the next chance she stays with the couple.

Looking at her friend properly this time, Sasha stills. “Mika, I’m glad that you refused when Connie once offered to cut your hair. You look more gorgeous with it reaching your waist.”

Now that Paradis is a peaceful island, there is no reason for Mikasa to maintain a short length. “Hearing that from the beautiful bride herself makes me happy.”

Sasha bursts into a fit of bell-like giggles. “I hope that every day is my wedding just so you can always compliment me.”

“And you’ll go bankrupt and return to having only potatoes for meals?”

The bride sniggers blithely, “That’s honestly not a problem, though?”

“Idiot,” Mikasa snorts, sitting down on the opposite end of the chaise and handing her a wrapped, rather heavy parcel.

Sasha’s light gold eyes glitter in pure delight. “Thank you, Mika!”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Mikasa laughs as she watches her friend rip the paper packaging viciously. “You already have high-grade porcelain plates, but these ones are antiques from the Oriental clan.”

“Mikasa!” Sasha cries gleefully, admiring the delicate porcelain plates with ornate blue patterns. “I’ve never seen such beautiful plates!”

“You flatter me.”

“Nonsense,” Sasha waves her off. “My own set can never compare. Not that they can now, they were shattered last night anyway. More importantly, these plates are connected to you. How wonderful!” 

After setting the plates carefully on the low table, she tackles Mikasa into the fiercest bear hug, trembling slightly.

“Don’t cry, Sasha.” Suppressing a flinch, Mikasa only pats her back soothingly. “Your cosmetics will smear.”

“How did I live long enough to receive this much happiness, Mika?” the brunette sniffles. “Everything that I have ever yearned for in my life is now within my reach. I am so grateful to be alive.”

_ Oh, Sasha. _

“You don’t know how much joy we have over the fact that you’re still here, Sasha.” Overcome by a torrent of emotions, Mikasa squeezes the sweet woman in her arms. “You have to make up for all the happiness that you missed. That’s your mission now.”

Sasha nods enthusiastically. “I love you, Mika.” Releasing herself from the hug, she shoots a dopey, snot-filled smile to Mikasa. “And isn’t that your mission, too?”

“Yes?”

“Like me, I want you to be so happy that you’ll burst into tears!”

“When hell freezes over, Sasha.”

“I’m serious, Mika. Do you know how relieved I was when you came here?” the bride pouts. “The hollow look you always had in your eyes for these past two years is gone, you’re up and about, and it doesn’t take too much to coax a laugh out of you. You’re starting to resemble your old self and even though we don’t say it out loud, we are beyond ecstatic to see it.”

Two years of numbness and despair—of days and nights blending together as quarts of alcohol entered her bloodstream and left her sleeping like an animal hibernating in a perpetual winter. It was only when they visited that she was reminded that, yes, life moves on with or without her.

But then he came along.

“Mika, whoever or whatever it is that encouraged you to open your heart to the world again, don’t ever let go of it. Now that we are free, it is our time now. We don’t have to fear tomorrow anymore.”

* * *

Weddings are lovely, she surmises. 

This may be the first time she has beheld how a couple proceeds with this momentous and life-altering event, but, at once, she is captivated by everything—down to the littlest detail. The elated grins and whoops of the wedding guests. The tunnel of arches enveloped by verdant vines and gorgeous white roses. The arch of pristine white fabric at the end that silently pledges a new beginning. The long trail of white petals on the grass, and the bare feet of the bride ambling on this enchanting aisle. 

There is no one more radiant than Sasha at this very moment. The smile on her beautiful face is of utter bliss, her eyes as brilliant as the world’s most lustrous gold.

Pure and unadulterated happiness. This can only be the sweetest fruit of all their sacrifices.

A few tears cascade down Mikasa’s cheeks as Sasha passes by, gratefulness welling up inside her, but she does not wipe them away until her eyes lock with Levi’s bluish greys from the opposite side.

The heated yearning in this man’s gaze makes her lightheaded, and he conveys another emotion as well—one she cannot confidently name in the midst of an amalgam of her own emotions wreaking havoc on her heart.

After ten infinite seconds, Mikasa is forced to look away when Hange bellows from her left, “Mikasa’s not the bride yet, Levi!”

The captain’s voice is strained. “Show some decorum, Hange.” 

Hange barks a laugh and says, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

Killing her curiosity of his present expression, Mikasa gazes at the euphoric couple at the altar who remains undeterred by the commotion in the back. Paradis could split apart and the two will still have their eyes on each other.

The beautiful ceremony concludes later with their sweet kiss and the audience erupting in raucous cheers. 

Before the confetti can be tossed however, the Springers must traverse down the aisle to the sizable log of wood set upon a sawhorse outside the venue. The  _ baumstamm sägen _ did not last very long as Sasha, more than ravenous with the entire affair, ferociously saws the log in half. On the other end of the saw, poor Connie is sweating buckets, barely keeping up with his vigorous wife.

Jean comes up from behind Mikasa, linking his arm with hers, as the two halves of wood drop on the ground and the white petals shower over the laughing newlyweds like snowflakes. She is too mesmerized by the scene to flinch at the contact. 

“A new beginning and everlasting love.”

It takes her a while to register his words. “Yes?”

“Sasha’s bouquet and the falling petals are of white roses. They symbolize a new beginning and everlasting love.”

Mama also taught her this once while she reminisced about her own wedding. With a serene smile, Mama described how beautiful it was when the morning light permeated through the leaves in the forest and illuminated her Papa’s golden eyes as they uttered their solemn vows to one another, promising a love that will last for an eternity and more.

“They’ve come a long way,” she finally says, her heart brimming with happiness for her dear friends. “I won’t fault them if they find that forever is not enough.”

“Yeah,” Jean answers warmly. “Not with little rascals in the near future. From their parents, I could already tell that they’ll be a handful.”

Mikasa prays that she would not have to babysit. “So, what is with this talk of white roses?”

“Oh!” A dark flush creeps into his cheeks. “Do you mind if we catch it?”

“Catch what?”

“The bouquet, Mika.”

“What do you mean ‘we—’”

_ “Kirstein.” _

Jean immediately rips himself away from her when he hears the captain’s low growl. 

“Did I hear correctly?” Standing before her, Levi’s expression is hidden from her view once again, yet she is relieved since their little moment earlier is rewinding in her mind again and she is all the more bashful for it.

But,  _ really, _ hostilities should be set aside for this one special day.  _ “Levi.” _

Jean frantically waves his hands to appease the man before him. “For the thousandth time, captain, you have nothing to wor—”

“Jean!” A stylish blonde woman clasps Jean from behind. Her chocolate brown eyes crinkle in mischief and excitement. “Did you miss me, you asshole?”

“Rilla!” Jean springs into action, hugging her back. “As always, you have the perfect timing.” Grinning merrily, he introduces her to them. “This is Rilla, my beloved of two years. She was supposed to travel with us to Dauper.”

“Yeah, I had to tend to my careless old man who broke his back while playing with my nephews,” she trails off when she retracts from the embrace. 

_ “How beautiful!” _ In a flash, Mikasa is face-to-face with the blonde, her hands tightly grasped by the latter. “You’re Mika, right? I heard you put this idiot in his place one too many times in the past. You’re a woman I respect!”

Stunned, Mikasa simply nods. At least, Rilla is not one to hold grudges.

Jean chuckles awkwardly and ushers the thrilled blonde to his side. “Now, now. It’s time to head to the reception.”

“Alright!” Rilla looks up at him, taking his hand and matching his languid pace. “Do you think I can catch the bouquet?”

“Definitely,” he beams at her affectionately. “It’s a good thing this isn’t Mika’s cup of tea.”

Mikasa might as well satisfy her longtime curiosity. “Jean!”

“Yes?”

“What do lavender ones mean?”

There is no doubt that the prior conversation has escaped his stream of thoughts with the number of seconds he takes blinking at Mikasa. 

“Oh, right…Enchantment and love at first sight!” he yells before redirecting all his attention back to his lover, and they gradually disappear from Mikasa’s field of vision.

“What was that about?” Levi had been silent beside her throughout the whole exchange with the couple. 

“Nothing.” 

Now, she is acutely aware of his stare boring holes in her face.

“So, that was Kirstein’s woman,” he begins instead, his demeanor oddly relaxed. “I wonder what he’s been telling her. She looks at me like I’m a titan who ate her grandmother and shat her remains on their roof.”

But, at this point, Mikasa is too deep in her rumination to voice her contempt for his morbid humor.

* * *

By the fourth hour, when the pinks and blues of dusk have been swallowed by the darkness of night, the wedding reception at the villa grounds remains in full swing. 

Along with the twinkling stars peppered in the sky, the vibrant lanterns dangling from the neighboring trees brighten the tables, dance floor, and the giddy faces of the guests who are either tipsy or completely inebriated by the continued rounds of beer, wine, and other liquor.

Behind the mountain of greasy plates on the head table is Sasha. The distinctive lump in her belly is certainly not their firstborn. She is spoon-feeding Connie after she injured his hand in another superstition which involved competing for whose hand will be on top while cutting the cake. It seems like Sasha will not have to take off the pants for their marriage anytime soon.

Among all the buzzed guests on the dance floor swaying to the vivacious song, Jean has succeeded in raising Rilla’s spirits after she lost the bouquet to the captain, of all people, who unwittingly received Sasha’s overly enthusiastic toss toward the furthest table. 

With the delicate centerpiece knocked off the said table, Hange is passed out across her, and Levi is nowhere to be found. Mikasa’s only company now is the chilled glass of champagne in her grip.

Today is many things, but she certainly did not expect it to be the day where she will start to loathe dancing. From Hange spinning her around for an hour to the several men who forced her to join them for ‘one song,’ she has had enough. With the bloodied high heels abandoned, she has spent the past hour glaring pointedly at every man who attempts to breach the six-foot distance between her and strangers.

A tap on her shoulder. A death wish. 

“Hello, Mikasa.”

Her gaze meets sapphire blue eyes, not bluish greys. “Nisse?”

The ginger-haired man directs her a kind, teasing look. “I knew that you would be more agreeable with champagne.”

“You’re here.”

“We’ve traded with the Springers for a long time. I consider them as friends,” he says genially, sitting down beside her. “Has it really been three years? You look…amazing.”

“It’s your lucky day,” she snorts. “I don’t have my wicker basket right now.”

“Oh, yes,” he smirks. “I forgot to ask if you had any eggs left for lunch after flinging three to my forehead that day.”

“I had come prepared. So, yes, I had a delicious omelet for lunch.”

He tuts. “Now, I’m regretting not choosing my killer one-liners.”

Shaking with silent laughter, Mikasa guzzles down the remaining alcohol in her glass. “I’d rather dive into a titan’s mouth.”

Arm propped on the table, he leans his head on his hand. “Are you in a relationship?”

Is she? “No.”

“Then, would you care to dance with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay. How about another drink—”

From the corner of her eye, a familiar figure clad in a smart three-piece suit lingers by the nearest line of trees, veiled in darkness. But, once glance is all it takes and she knows. 

It’s Levi.

A piece of memory flickers in Mikasa’s mind. His lamp-lit features are desperately burying the anguish within, but she isn’t in her room with him clawing his way through her iron wall, a small lamp in his hand. She’s in Dauper with a myriad of shared moments between them and a promise of more, and yet she has brought that look on his face once again.

“Are you okay, Mikasa?”

And when he vanishes from her line of sight, she gives chase.

* * *

“Was it very important?”

“What was?”

“The telegram that you left the reception so urgently for.”

Sixty yards beyond the villa is an enthralling mountain lake that glistens like a sea of fresh diamonds in the moonlight. Levi is by the old dock, his bare feet dipped in the ice-cold waters. She settles on the space beside him, mimicking his actions to cool her own throbbing feet.

“It was,” he answers. “An accident happened at the site, so the opening of the new tea shop and my intrusion will be delayed further.”

She hums, startlingly not the least inconvenienced. “As long as you cook my meals and change my bedsheets, I‘ll allow it.”

“That’s a given,” he chuckles, but the sound is mirthless. The silence that falls over them is unlike the previous ones that always kept her at ease. This one is tense and unnatural, stirring fear inside of her for what will unfold next.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Who do you mean?”

“The redhead. Who is he?”

“Oh. Nisse?”

“Nisse…Your suitor?”

“He’s not a suitor anymore. Not for a long time, remember?”

Though his voice persists to be monotonous, his hands clench and unclench on his lap. “He’s a handsome fellow.”

“What?”

“Jean said he’s filthy rich as well.”

“Levi—”

“He behaves like someone’s  _ precious, sheltered son _ , so he’s not a fucked up character, right?”

“What are you—”

“A  _ young _ man who, from the look on his face, still clearly adores you. Why don’t you consider him?”

His disdain for sweet Hans, the lavender roses, the stargazer lilies, Gerard’s flattery, the townspeople’s attention and gifts, and the way Jean interacts with her—his elusive words now, thoughtlessly dictating her heart what to do like he has figured out every single thing about her. She knows this feeling; it’s the same one she possessed when she had witnessed Eren and Historia before. She cannot believe that she wasn’t able to piece all of this together much sooner. 

Jealousy.

But, then again, this is Levi and what he feels might be something greater than she can ever hope to grasp. 

“Do you really want me to?”

His jaw tightens. “He’s a safer option.”

The flimsy muscle in her chest might as well stop beating. 

“Safer than who? Who are you comparing him with, Levi?”

“Who else, Mikasa?” His silvery gaze pierces right into her weary soul.  _ “Me.” _

How silly. Saying one thing while his expression betrays another. 

It must be the champagne thrumming in her bloodstream. Six, seven, eight—she does not recall how many glasses she had quaffed down when he quit the festivities. It does not matter now. Because if she were sober, how could this summer night be so achingly beautiful?

If she were sober, how could she possibly cup his face in her hands and claim his warm lips with her own?


	10. Pieces

Mikasa is a survivor. Despite the slaughter of her biological family, the Fall of Wall Maria, the Battle of Trost District, the Battle of Shiganshina District, and the million lethal missions as a scout in between, the only time she had been closest to dying was when her brothers, one after another, left her on this abject earth.

Or at least, she thought so until tonight.

The moment Mikasa pressed her mouth over his, it was as if a tightly wound cord within him snapped. 

This…This is an utterly different death. With her erratic heart threatening to burst out of her chest, he has set her alight from the skin of her face to the tips of her toes. 

The slide of his arid lips over hers draws her in like moth to a flame and tips her to the edge over and over again. Tasting of luscious champagne, his kisses are soft, reverent, insistent —a devotion unlike anything she has ever known in her desolate life. The glorious sigh of her name from his mouth, as he glides his hands in her tresses and over the slopes of her back, feeds the voracious fire inside of her.

This death is fiery and…saccharine. And if this is her last night, there is no lament for the way she goes.

Delirious, she seizes a clump of dark hair at the base of his neck and pulls gently. The rewarding sound that escapes him is  _ fucking _ beautiful and tantalizing. But by then, this is his last straw, and as if suddenly splashed by freezing water, he withdraws from her. Now that she is deprived of his warmth, she cannot ignore the cold summer night air.

_ “Mikasa,” _ he pants, bluish greys lidded. “You’re intoxicated.” 

“Not quite,” she whispers, rendered diffident by everything that has transpired between them.

For a minute, Levi says nothing and Mikasa contemplates running away, but then she feels his fingers in her hair, combing the stray locks in place. 

“You’re intoxicated and grieving,” he mutters. 

Standing, he quietly takes off his black jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. She tentatively takes his outstretched hand and of course, her legs buckle.

_ “Damn,” _ she moans in pain and falls back down. Dancing should be erased from history.

Levi curses, kneeling before her and inspecting her wounded, sore feet. “How did you even walk here?”

“Not very well.”

“Would it kill you to take care of yourself?”

Like routine, Levi sweeps her off her feet, securing her arms around his neck, and carries her like a blushing bride away from the creaking dock and through the thick patch of trees.

“Where are your shoes?”

“I’d rather you call them spikes,” she grumbles from the memory and the worsening ache in her head. “I threw them away.”

“The deranged scientist didn’t let you go?”

“For an hour, yes. Then she gave me away to a couple of ‘bachelors.’” At first, in the spirit of the joyous celebration, she could not bring herself to decline their offers. But when the heels bit the flesh of her feet so horribly, good nature be damned.

“That’s on you.”

“Huh?” She has finally plucked the courage to look at him.

“I told you not to be too beautiful today.”

Mikasa is not a fool. Because of her Asian descent, she has been coveted by many, and a gruesome proof of that was the death of her parents by avaricious robbers who wished to sell her and her mother as exotic sex slaves. Since then, she is without an ounce of vanity.

But the way Levi gazes at her is a breath of fresh air from the repulsive leers of the others. And now, adding to the pile of her other ‘first times’ because of him is the first time she has felt grateful for her appearance.

“Levi, where have you been?”

“The post office, Mika—”

“No, not that.” Her words have become clumsy. “Why did you let four years pass by without seeing me? Where were you?”

But he does not answer. A cacophony of the sounds of the wilderness and the distant music of the reception fills the ensuing silence.

“Mikasa,” he begins instead when the weight of her head grows heavier on his chest. “When the morning light comes and you wake up, you may not remember any of this.”

“What is it?” she asks, voice faint.

“I have never been enough.” 

Mikasa can feel the tension in his jaw. 

“I was too weak to help my sickly mother, too insignificant for that bastard Kenny, too angry to recognize that titans were once people, and too slow to save countless lives from being eaten by them—including the ones I actually gave a damn about.”

“Levi…”

“Even death won’t accept me. I am too stubborn for it,” he exhales harshly. “Because of all this, I am always the one left behind. And right now…”

Her heart aches this time, and she flits her icy fingers over his taut cheek. 

“I’ll stay.”

But he only gives her a sad, tired smile.

* * *

_“Did you have fun?” _

_ “Oh, it was more than that.” His green eyes glitter like emeralds in the meager light of the oil lamp, and she can see glimpses of a younger him. “It was the adventure of a lifetime. I’ve befriended people of different colors, culture, and principles. I’ve enjoyed sumptuous cuisines and beheld magnificent creatures that this little island can only imagine. I’ve witnessed the sun set and rise from far corners of the world—” _

_ “—Slow down, Eren—” _

_ “—You know, my only regret was giving up after the first few times you refused to come with me. ” _

_ “It’s your calling, not mine. My place is here, where I am always ready to welcome you back home.” _

_ “That was the best welcome, alright. And did you like them? My gifts?” _

_ “They delight me so. But Eren, after so long, why did you only return now—now that…” _

_ “Like you said, Mikasa. This is the place where I return to: my home.” _

_ “Yes, yes. You’re absolutely right. But, you’re too cruel…Did you only return home to die?” _

_ “I’m sorry. Complications rose when I was travelling back. I was supposed to arrive a month ago.” _

_ “A month? A month was all you wanted to give me? Did you know how…Did you know that I was…” _

_ “I hope you’ll understand, my dearest Mikasa. With my greatest wishes fulfilled, I can finally say that I’ve lived a good life…Now, would you care to hear my last one?” _

_ “How cruel of you, Eren.” _

_ “…Live on, Mikasa. Make a new family. Become the happiest woman in the world.” _

_ “No, no, no. Not that…How can I ever go on without you, Eren? Without Armin? Who will protect me? And you…you said…You said that you’ll wrap my scarf around me now and forever, as much as I want…” _

_ “I’ll always be with you, Mikasa. Now and forever in the blue sky, the verdant trees, the vast prairie, this warm cottage, and your red scarf… Now, please promise me…Promise me that you’ll fulfill my last wish.” _

_ “….Of course. Anything for you, Eren.” _

_ “Thank you…I love you, Mikasa.” _

* * *

She remembers everything from the taste of peppermint on his lips to the way he bared his heart to her under the glow of the summer moon.

“Trust Mikasa to remain unscathed after puking on the captain’s shoes last night,” Jean chuckles from behind the door that she is about to open.

On second thought, not everything.

“Mikasa!” Hange greets from the dining table, munching on a piece of omelet. “You look surprisingly well. Do Ackermans not feel as groggy as ordinary humans do after consuming so much alcohol? ”

The searing light entering the open windows makes Mikasa regret leaving the dark confines of her room. “Then are you an Ackerman, too?”

The table rumbles when Hange slams her fist on it in the midst of her guffaws. “No, no, no! I’m a special case.”

“Yeah,” Jean mumbles from across her, cutting the salmon on his places into thin slices. “A nutcase.”

All of a sudden, his face meets with his meal—courtesy of his lover.

Beside him, Rilla only wipes her mouth demurely with a napkin. “It’s a wonder no one imprisoned you for insubordination, darling.”

What an interesting relationship.

Looking at her own plate of steaming salmon and vegetable omelets, the queasiness of Mikasa’s stomach intensifies. “Did Connie and Sasha leave already?”

“Not yet.” Jean is now seated properly, wiping the mush of salmon off his face. “You’d think they would have raced out of Dauper at first light, like all normal newlyweds do, but no, they’re consulting with Levi. I guess marriage is no different for them since they’ve been together for so long.”

_ Levi. _

“Jean,” she starts once she has begrudgingly swallowed a piece of salmon. “Did I do anything else last night?”

Rilla almost bounces off her seat. “Oh! Can I tell this one?”

Despite the earlier violence, Jean’s face looks like Rilla hung the moon in the sky. “Go on, love.”

From the other side, the pleased blond woman holds Mikasa’s gaze. 

“You see. Two hours before midnight, the captain—so like the pale, fanged demon from the tales of the cold north—came out of the forest with you in his arms, unconscious. Of course, the celebration hushed. It really looked he was bringing a corpse! But then, you thrashed so  _ wildly _ in his arms and fell on the grass and—” 

That explains the bump on her head.

“—he swore and tried to sweep you up again. But you were clinging to his leg and whimpering,  _ ‘Don’t go,’ _ over and over again until you—until you puked on his shoes!” She interrupts the story with a giggle. “Oh, you emptied every bit of that little stomach of yours onto his divine leather shoes! But–but! Listen to this, Mikasa, he didn’t get angry at you—at the crowd, yes, he told everyone to fuck off—but he only crouched before you, fished out a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped your dripping mouth—”

“But not after chucking his wet shoes at my face!”

“Yes, yes. We heard you, darling. To continue, the captain carried you once more, Mikasa, passing over the threshold. It was so picturesque that I was about to swoon! And back at the reception, all we could say was, ‘Whose wedding are we here for, again?’”

At the conclusion of her detailed account, all Mikasa could say is, “Thank you, Rilla.”

No more liquor for her, that’s for sure.

* * *

Contrary to Jean’s supposition, Sasha and Connie are not unprecedented newlyweds. They are ecstatic for their honeymoon, but entrusting their business to a capable entrepreneur is their priority at hand.

“Levi will stay here?”

Sasha smiles sheepishly, arranging her sun hat with one heeled boot on the carriage step. “A month will be enough for us. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not—”

“Mika, I’ll be frank. It’s time.”

“I’m sorry.” She wobbles away from the carriage, still lightheaded. “I shouldn’t hold you.”

“No!” Rushing down, Sasha snatches Mikasa’s hand and grasps it firmly. The cool gold band on her ring finger contrasts with the warmth of her bronze skin. “I mean it’s time to face reality, Mika. You can stay here, too, and decide whether or not you’re going to let him be a part of your life.”

Mikasa purses her lips.

“I know you are not clueless as to who I am referring to, Mika. I also know you are not so naïve and oblivious to everything around you that you disregard his feelings,” Sasha implores. “He is not going to stick around with you forever, you know.”

Three months. How could she forget?

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do.”

Sasha’s light gold eyes are shining with hope. “We don’t have to fear tomorrow anymore, remember?”

* * *

Levi is lounging on a clean pile of hay inside the stables, arms folded and eyes shut. His countenance is softer in this drowsy, dull afternoon with only the nickers of Sasha’s mare filling the air as Mikasa sifts her slightly trembling fingers into its lustrous mane.

“Have you been avoiding me?” His chair was empty for both breakfast and lunch.

“No,” he answers. “I just needed time to think things over.”

The origin of her audacity to confront him after last night’s events is a mystery. “Are you cross with me?”

“Not at all,” is what he says with his bluish greys open this time and mouth straightened into a grim line.

“I apologize for soiling your leather shoes.”

His frustration is evident now. “It’s not about that, Mikasa.”

“Then what is it? Why don’t you tell me, Levi?”

He musses his neat dark hair. “I want you to forget what happened last night.”

It takes six strides to stand before him. “Did you detest it when you shared your pain with me?” She does not understand. He had made it perfectly lucid that he likes their companionship. “Have I not earned your trust?”

“Of…Of course you have, Mikasa. But my shitty past does not have anything to do with this.”

“Then,” she unintentionally gulps, stepping backward. “Is it the kiss?” She catches a glimpse of his guilt before loosing her footing on a hole in the ground behind her.

By the next second, her back is flushed against the hay and her wrists are pinned by his rigid hands. Their noses bump on one another’s.

“Why the kiss, Levi?”

“Surely you must regret it?” His hot breath fans her face. “To be inebriated and mournful and lonely and attacked by an old man.”

“But I had been none of those things,” she discloses, heart in her throat. “The first one, maybe. Just a smidge?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” she begins, every word steeling herself further. “I’m saying that I didn’t mind it.”

Almost breathless, he can only mouth  _ “What?” _

“I like your kisses, Levi.”

Above her, his bluish grey eyes are glistening in awe, supple lips partly agape. And like a rock in the path of a stormy wave, she resigns herself to her fate and closes her eyes. 

But she feels a light peck on her temple instead, and even if Hange would say it is scientifically impossible, her entire being melts at his touch. Can she ever fathom how much he treasures her?

He releases her wrists and rests on the hay beside her. “Will you stay here with me?”

“Yes,” she finds herself replying to his request so easily. “But could you have said that before we came here? I didn’t bring enough clothes.”

“Sasha is kind enough to share her lavish wardrobe with you. I asked her.” He rolls to his side, coming face-to-face with her. She feels the stark brush of his finger pads on her bare neck. 

“Where’s your scarf?”

“Oh,” she says, finally conscious of what has long been amiss. “I must have forgotten it in my room.”

He surprises her with a gratuitous quirk of his lips. “I see.” It does not last long, however, as rumbles of a famished stomach interrupt their lethargic afternoon. Mikasa swears that the tips of his ears have turned pink.

Standing up, she extends a hand to him. “Come. I told Leni you missed two meals. Knowing her, you should expect a feast when we get there —and a scolding of a lifetime.”

Levi groans, pulling himself up with her support. “Let’s just return to Trost in Jean’s shoddy carriage then.”

* * *

His white porcelain plate remains cold and spotless as larger platters and bowls, containing hearty helpings of savory dishes, are lined up on the table before him.

“Mrs. Bahre, this seems like my last meal.”

“Oh, it may very well be,” the old woman huffs before nodding at the server and sitting down. “If you don’t call me Leni and ingest everything that’s in front of you, Mr. Ackerman…Trust me, you youngsters better eat good food while you can, before your teeth rot and fall off. And under my roof, I will not let any one of you stubborn mules die of hunger.”

From her peripheral, the subtlest shudder upsets Levi’s dignified posture for a split second. 

Shrugging off her momentary shock, Mikasa grabs the deep bowl of sweet and sour fish and ladles out two scoops on his plate. “Better feed that caged beast inside your stomach.”

Leni hums thoughtfully. “Being cared for by your young and beautiful wife must feel good.”

Mikasa almost drops the platter of pork cutlets from her outstretched hand, inducing her to forget taking a couple of slices for Levi’s plate. “We are not—”

“My husband was a dunce when it came to me, you see. He was twenty-one years older, and to everyone, it was plain as day that he was enamored with me before we wed. But he kept on insisting that he’s too old, too jaded for someone like me, as if I were a nymph in his eyes, so I called him out on his hogwash and dragged him to the altar with every ounce of bravery that I had. As luck would have it, he didn’t run away. Since then, our life together was as much as happy and passionate, if not more, than any other couple.”

Past tense.

The crease on the old woman’s brows soften. “Now, don’t look like that, dear. A decade ago, old age crept up to Oskar and he passed away peacefully in his sleep before a titan could grab ahold of him for breakfast. Thank goodness.”

Mikasa dips her head blankly, disheartened.

An unperturbed Levi elbows her gently on her side, motioning towards the unconsumed mountain of food on her plate—courtesy of him, of course. She feels her lips curve the slightest.

“A small piece of advice from this old hag: don’t waste every bit of your time together. In the end, it matters more than you think.”

Without prior notice, the immense wooden doors slam open. Jean and Rilla intrudes into the solemn dining room, giggling and sopping wet and dripping on the unsullied carpet. The smell of fresh water intermingles with the waft of supper’s aroma. 

Jean flashes them a sheepish grin. “So, what did we miss?”

After a few beats, Leni’s resounding screech is inhuman.

* * *

Donning a fresh set of clothes, Jean and Rilla stand before the carriage to bid their goodbyes.

“We were due to leave in thirty minutes anyway. She didn’t have to kick us out.” 

Mikasa arches a brow at Jean. “Let me ask you: who in their right mind would meet Leni in that state?”

“Rilla and I were starving after frolicking by the lake for hours, and I assumed Leni returned to her quarters after cooking like she always does, okay? I certainly didn’t expect her to impart her wisdom on married life to the two of you, rays of sunshine that you are.” He winks at her mischievously.

Mikasa rolls her eyes. “Whoever told her we’re married?”

“I’m guessing Hange had a hand on that or our elopement dramatics made such an impression on her when you arrived days ago.”

With her blonde curls bouncing, Rilla clasps their hands together once again. “Mika! I hope that we’ll see you at Trost? If not, the Victory Day party?”

“Right,” Jean adds, tugging Rilla back to his side. “It almost slipped my mind that you didn’t attend that obnoxious event for almost half a decade. When December comes, maybe Levi will take you there this year.”

“And those greasy-faced Garrison officials?” Mikasa cannot help it. Her nose wrinkles at the thought of interacting with those slimy men.

“Like the previous years, they’ll be there alright.” He pats her head affectionately. “But don’t be too worked up about it. This time, they’ll be kissing your feet. We’re war heroes after all.”

A sigh. “And here I thought they couldn’t get any worse.”

After smiling lopsidedly at her, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts at the villa’s direction, “Commander, we’re leaving!”

The carriage door abruptly opens, and there on the leather seat, with blueprints strewn across her lap, Hange sits. “Way ahead of you, mushy couple.”

Mikasa blinks at her former superior. “You’re returning to Sina, Hange?”

Hange gives her a cheeky salute. “Duty calls, Mika. Earlier, I replied to a telegram reporting the failure of all experiments on our new machine. I’m itching to get my hands on it,” she slows down to a stop, spotting something behind Mikasa. “Hey, Levi! Be a good boy and don’t jump on Mikasa while we’re away, alright?”

Lingering by the villa’s front porch, Levi only raises his middle finger at their general direction.

* * *

Mikasa wonders if it roots back to Hange’s words or if she can attribute it to the Springers’ thriving business or the  _ damning _ kiss, but her encounters with Levi have diminished in the past two weeks. They do constantly meet for dinner, exchanging small talk on the side, and sleep side-by-side in the night, but he turns his back to her every time and he is also gone for most of the day.

In his absence, she does not confine herself to the bed. She takes long walks in the Dauper woodland, swim in the clear waters of the lake, and watch the children play tag until the sun vanishes below the horizon.

When a poignant palette of blue, lavender, and vermillion covers the darkening sky, the structure of the villa and the figure waiting on the front steps become clearer in her eyes. So close yet they are miles apart.

“Sasha, I don’t think he wants to be a part of mine,” she whispers before drawing nearer.

Levi’s eyebrows knit in concern. “Is that blood on your dress?”

“Oh, this?” She rubs the crusted blood on the center of her skirt. “Some little girl’s nose bled when she was pushed to the ground by a playmate, and I didn’t have a handkerchief.”

“I see,” he says in a manner so detached that she almost loses it.

_ “Levi, I thought we were—” _

“Come on. Food’s ready,” he urges, opening the front door and disappearing inside. The door rattles as it closes shut.

_ “—okay.” _

* * *

It has been two hours since she tucked herself under the velvety covers of her bed, but she is not asleep yet. She is willing to bet that no one else can after dinner’s stuffy affair.

The space beside her remains void of warmth, and if he doesn’t come tonight, she won’t be surprised at all.

So, she ambles down the hallways like an apparition cursed to haunt this house for eternity, cursed to hear the endless echoes of joy and laughter and memories within these walls.

Unconsciously, she reaches the study, Levi’s temporary office where he spends every possible hour if he does not go out to inspect the farmlands.

But he’s nowhere to be found. He must be on the porch, sipping chamomile and staring up at the starry blanket without her. 

The scene before her provides her with what she needs: a distraction. It is such a foreign occurrence to see papers scattered on the floor, some fluttering in the late night breeze. She shuts the windows and gathers the fallen documents, her chest becoming more burdensome by the second. 

Beside the leg of the long table is a pocket-sized, leather-bound journal—most likely the makeshift paperweight for the unruly papers. It is open and although Mikasa tears her gaze away from the page, she has already read it. The entry is dated on Sasha’s wedding day.

_ 6th of August 860 _

_ I fucked up. How am I supposed to keep his promise with honor now? _

* * *

Like an immortal butterfly, every metamorphosis of the nature of their relationship has been more meaningful and beautiful than the last. Yet one thing stays constant: he is an enigma to her. 

But what she is aware of now is that when he lies beside her a little after midnight, believing she is sound asleep, he holds her like its their first embrace—her safe and snug in his arms—the one solace she will ever know.

His breath ghosts over her exposed neck. Later on, she is sure that the broken whisper to her ear will follow her into her dreams.

_ “I’m sorry.” _


	11. Keep On Lying

Angry red scratches mark the little girl’s knees and it reminds Mikasa of the papercut on Levi’s finger when he was sifting through a bundle of documents at breakfast. Aloofly, he turned down her offer to treat it herself.

In no way can she make sense of this estrangement. Did the accident raise his fury so much that his ruthless admonishments through telegram induced the contractors to quit that night? Had he been he so frustrated with the task of finding a new team to work with?

And he wrote about a promise. A promise to whom? Is this the root of his defensiveness over the new tea shop? Is its establishment bounded by such an important declaration?

Or is she completely off the mark and in the first place, his journal entry is about her—

“That hurts, Mrs. Ackerman!” whines the auburn-haired little girl in front of her.

Mikasa promptly loosens the clean bandages around the girl’s scraped knee, silently berating herself. “I’m so sorry, Delmy.” Gingerly this time, she swathes it properly and bestows a kiss on the wound, eliciting a delighted giggle from the patient.

“You’re so out of it today, Mrs. Ackerman. More so than the previous days,” a young boy comments, observing them from the picnic table with a mouth full of bread. His words are barely coherent.

A boy of the same age slaps the back of his friend’s head. “Chew first, Elias. Are you an animal?”

“Damn you, Noah,” Elias sputters, choking.

Accustomed to their antics, Mikasa placidly zips the bag of medical supplies close, heads for the table, and pours Elias a glass of orange juice from the tray Delmy’s mother prepared for them.

After chugging the juice in one swig, the tanned boy grins at her. “Thanks, Mrs. Ackerman.”

Situating herself on the porch once again, Mikasa discovers Delmy laying her head on her lap in the blink of an eye. She only sighs at the sight of the little girl’s abashed smile and begins threading her fingers through her rich auburn hair.

“Can you take us to meet him, Mrs. Ackerman?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Ackerman, of course!”

“He’s…He’s not the friendliest fellow.” Nor the best role model for kids with that mouth of his.

“We don’t mind!” Elias interjects, eyes twinkling with hero-worship. “I’m sure he’s not half as ill-tempered as the rumors make him out to be. He also saved the world, after all, and what’s more, you married him!”

After coming across so many people who perceive their relationship as something more than what it really is, Mikasa has decided to save her breath. It is futile to deny. 

“He’s peevish nowadays, but once the situation subsides, I’ll ask him.”

“Yes!” Elias pumps his fist in the air, brown hair bobbing with the motion. “You’re the best, Mrs Ackerman!”

On the other hand, Delmy stares at her thoughtfully. “Are you two fighting?”

“I don’t know,” she answers frankly. Is this even a disagreement? He wasn’t even this cold back in her early legion days. “Maybe a little bit. But we’ll be fine.”

“I think you should talk to him, Mrs. Ackerman,” Noah sensibly supplies. “If he refuses, annoy him until he does. That’s how Pops always got through Mom’s stubbornness once she ignores him when they’re fight—”

“Enough about romance!” Elias bounces off his seat and gets down on his knees with folded hands before Mikasa. “Mrs. Ackerman, don’t you think it’s about time you tell us about your adventures?”

Mikasa winces. “They weren’t adventures. Not the least.”

Noah nonchalantly boots Elias to the ground, his miffed demeanor gone and replaced with something akin to apologetic. “Then, will you tell us what the ocean looks like? And Marley? They say that place is like another world.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ackerman!” Delmy’s squeals drown out Elias’s complaints. “We don’t have to play again later. I want to hear your stories!”

“A nosebleed yesterday and now a bleeding knee? I doubt your mother will let you roughhouse with more kids from now on, young lady.”

Undeterred, the children’s anticipating, eager eyes remain trained on her, and she finds them particularly difficult to resist. That or they finally have her at their beck and call.

Perhaps she can set aside the matter with Levi for a bit. 

“Alright. But only when you call me Mikasa.”

* * *

“Thank you again for watching over those little nuisances, Mikasa. You really do have a way with children. I can see how good you are in taking care of them.”

Mothering others had been Mikasa’s full-time occupation for a long time. Maybe she misses it a little bit.

“No problem at all, Mrs. Voran. In fact, I should be thanking you for your continued hospitality.”

“Nonsense! Any friend of Connie’s is mine as well. After what he had done for my husband’s atrocious hair, he’s practically family!”

“Atrocious?”

“You think I’m exaggerating, don’t you? Then I shall tell you that when we were still living in Quinta before the Fall, a robin tried to make a nest of his hair when he was tending the cows and he didn’t notice! My Clovis refused to go out for a week after that fateful spring day…We were so blessed that Sasha brought Connie home to Dauper. He’s my husband’s savior!”

So as not to be rude, Mikasa stifles her laughter.

“Speaking of husband, have you met with Mr. Ackerman already?”

Unperturbed, Mikasa only shakes her head. “We’ll see each other at dinnertime like always, Mrs. Voran.”

“Like always?”

“He’s very busy with work these days.”

“Hold on. You mean to say that you’ve never met him here?  _ All this time?” _

Mikasa falters. “Yes? This place is quite far from his usual route for inspections.”

“Mikasa, my dear.” Though Mrs. Voran is three years older than her, the maturity in her gaze is something she can only hope to achieve. 

“He has always stopped by to check on you ever since you began to visit this neighborhood of ours. He just left.”

* * *

“Is that blood on your dress?”

“Oh this? Her knee was scraped this time.”

“I see.”

Before he can turn around and close the front door on her, Mikasa clamps a hand around his wrist. Startled, his bluish greys widen a little as the sunset casts swirls of orange in them.

“Let’s spar.”

He heaves a sigh, carefully prying her fingers off his wrist. “Mikasa.”

“I found Sasha and Connie’s maneuver gears and several cans of oil.”

As expected, he lifts a brow at this. “I notice you’ve been out and about so much lately.”

“Tomorrow near the lake. I’ll wait for you here at first light.”

“Do you know how much work I have to—”

_ “No.” _ Frustration unwittingly seeps into her tone. “How could I know anything when I’ve hardly seen you, Levi?”

Something in her dark eyes causes his rigid gaze to soften. “Alright, let’s spar. It’s already some time after the wedding anyway.”

* * *

When it comes to them, it has always been either a draw or a loss for her. Levi consistently lives up to the promise that comes with his name. Even when she has operated her 3DMG over the years to break the monotony of living alone while he has not touched his own, all odds are still against her. Flight is innate in him.

Her makeshift sword shudders under the unrelenting pressure of his. “Want to call it a day, Mikasa? Time for lunch.” Gone is the severe countenance he maintained for the past week. The rush of adrenaline brings out his youthfulness.

Her heartbeat stutters at his playful smirk and she pushes back. “So greedy for sandwiches, Levi?”

For the first time in a while, she hears a low chuckle rumbling in his chest before he flawlessly somersaults backwards, releasing their locked swords, and shots out grapple-hooks into a colossal tree further away. 

Deep inside her chest, a feeling of unwarranted joy and marvel rises again at the sight of his graceful form in mid-air, and she gives chase.

An hour or so past noon, the battle seemingly leans into her favor. His sword detaches from his handgrip after one unceremonious kick from her and she tackles him against a tree trunk, their breathing laborious.

“Say it and spare ourselves from hunger, Levi.”

There is no sign of the challenge in his eyes being snuffed out anytime soon. “What kind?”

Paralyzed, she can only utter, “Huh?” before Levi swoops in to kiss the tip of her nose chastely. He takes advantage of her momentary distraction to break off her sword and straddle her on the sturdy branch beneath them. “That would be my one-hundred and twenty-fifth win.” 

Scrutinizing her, his conceited, victorious expression abruptly fades. “What’s wrong?”

“What have I done to you?”

“Mika—”

“You give me warmth and then just as easily, you take it back and shove me out into the cold. But like this…once again, you—” Swallowing, she doesn’t cry nor permit herself a single sniffle.  _ “You’re making me hope, Levi.” _

“Shit, fuck,” he rasps out, gathering her in his arms and holding her ever so tightly. “Mikasa, I’m so sorry. I’m such a self-absorbed asshole.”

“I’ve never known you to be fickle, Levi. And you said you’ll keep me safe.”

“Yes!  _ Fuck, _ I’m sorry. I’ve always meant that, Mikasa. More than anything else, I swear to protect you.”

“You’re lying.”

_ “No. _ Lest I swallow a thousand needles.”

“Then tell me what happened, Levi. Have I offended you? Do you hate me now?”

“It was never you, Mikasa, and you can never make me hate you. I was being cowardly and foolish.” 

There is so much fervor in his half-truths.

“Mikasa, how can I ever make it up to you?”

She revels in his touch, drawing in as much comfort as she can, before she says, “Don’t drink tea without me.”

“…Is that all?”

“Don’t turn your back on me in bed.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m just anyone.”

She can feel his lips upturning against her neck. “Have I made you needy?”

“If you did, you should take responsibility.”

A deep chuckle reverberates in his chest as he withdraws a bit from the embrace and leaves a peck on her temple. “I’ll be damned if I don’t.”

* * *

Without considerable effort, they fall back into their unique relationship. When he is tied down by a mountain of paperwork in the study, she reads Sasha’s collection of horror novels on the spare chaise. When he ventures out for inspections, she accompanies him sometimes, avid to see the workings in the Springers’ farmland. When she visits the neighborhood, he picks her up by horseback and the children either stare in awe or cower at his presence.

“What did you say their names were again?” he asks, dangling his feet in the water, when he has finished laying out the blanket and food on the lakeside dock. It’s a week before the end of Connie and Sasha’s honeymoon, and today is one of those days when the workaholic man takes time off work, which are few and far between.

“Whose names?” She is floating in the clear waters, eyes shut in serenity.

“Those three little brats—and Mikasa, if you drown—”

“Levi. For the millionth time, I can swim.”

“When did you learn to swim anyway? I don’t even know how nor see the need to learn it as we rarely come across bodies of water in this island. ”

“You do realize that I live near the ocean, right?”

_ “You taught yourself?” _ Without glimpsing him, she is aware that he is standing now. “Alone? What if you had drowned?” During the wedding reception, isn’t he the one who hung around here despite not knowing how to swim?

“I assure you swimming came to me naturally, Levi.” She will never tell him about her morning excursions here before they made up.

_ “God, _ Mikasa. If I die early, that’s on you.” 

She dives once again in a small act of defiance, feet paddling furiously until she reaches the thick leg of the dock nearest to him and resurfaces again with a loud gasp. 

“How the hell can you swim in that freezing temperature?” A displeased Levi is already holding out a hand to her from above. “Come up right now or I’ll forcibly drag you out.”

She takes it and when he has pulled her up on the creaking dock, he wraps a fluffy towel around her and guides her to the picnic set-up. His chivalry does not fail to fluster her. It seems as if they are courting.

“Delmy, Elias, and Noah,” she jabbers, suppressing a groan at the exquisiteness of Leni’s famous bee sting cake in her mouth. Honey and almonds are indeed a match made in heaven.

He snickers at her, putting down his teacup and swiping the stray vanilla cream off the edge of her mouth. “Try to decide between eating or speaking first.”

She swallows the delectable dessert obediently. “Delmy, Elias and Noah—a bit rowdy, but they’re sweet kids.”

He passes a steaming cup of Ceylon tea to her. “‘Bit rowdy,’ my foot. That blonde kid talked my ear off.”

“Elias is your biggest fanatic. Every time he sees me, he immediately asks for you. You’re lucky he didn’t haul you off somewhere.” The full-bodied, smooth, citrus taste of Ceylon perfectly complements the cake’s sweetness.

“What’s even there to idolize?” he scoffs.

A little hurt to hear him putting himself down again, she pushes a forkful of bee sting cake into his downturned mouth. “A lot.”

“Really.”

“More than the amount of almonds in this cake.”

This time, he bites back a smile. “Enlighten me then.”

“Well, you can make a mean cup of tea, and the way you clean is impeccable. Also, your cooking is something I’d love to have for the rest of my life,” here Mikasa pauses, daunted by her slipup, and breaks the eye contact, her face as warm as her teacup. “Out of the people I know, you have the strongest set of morals and you always stand by them. And even though you’re grouchy, you never abandon those in need. You’re dependable and patient and caring—if you’re not any of these things, then why else would you be here with me?”

At the end of her little speech, Levi’s silence persists and she thrusts spoonfuls of red berry pudding into her mouth to hinder more praises from being uttered.

She almost runs away from the sensation of his thumb hovering over the corner of her lips. “You like pudding this much?”

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly, raising a tentative hand to wipe away the trickle of juice from her mouth. Must she be this slovenly?

Before she can, however, Levi seizes her hand and intertwines it with his resolutely.  _ “No.” _ At this very moment, his smoldering bluish greys are honeytraps she cannot resist. There is nothing she can do when his face closes in on hers.

“Let me.”

* * *

The little girl latched onto her right leg looks up at her with tear-filled chartreuse eyes and trembling lips. “Do you really have to leave tomorrow?”

“Oh, Delmy,” Mikasa coos and lifts the tiny girl in her arms. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“Yes, you can,” she sniffles. “I’ll tell Mr. Ackerman that you guys should move here. Mama says the city’s so stuffy.”

“But I live in a forest, remember? Near the ocean?”

“Then I’ll tell Mama we should move with you. It’s so pretty there, and I don’t want us to be separated, Mika.”

“Do you want to leave Noah and Elias?” 

Delmy’s auburn pigtails whip around as she shakes her head frantically. The cute display earns her a pinch on her pudgy cheeks from Mikasa. “How about this? I’ll come back soon.”

“When?”

“How about the New Year’s?”

Delmy pouts. “What? That’s too far.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. In the meantime, I have a mission for you. Do you want to know what it is?”

“Yes! Anything for you, Mika.”

“Keep Noah and Elias in line while I’m gone, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Delmy rubs her tears away and dips her head in agreement. “I will. They’ll be good boys when you return, Mika.”

The serious, determined glint in the her chartreuse eyes coaxes a laugh out of Mikasa. “I’ll look forward to it, Delmy.” She puts her down and bops her on her endearing button nose. “Now, run along inside. It’s getting chilly now that it’s almost autumn.”

Delmy enfolds her arms around Mikasa’s hip for a last squeeze. “I’ll miss you, Mika.”

Heart melting, Mikasa pats her head fondly. “I’ll miss you, too.”

The familiar drum of hooves on the ground jerks Mikasa’s attention away. Coming to a standstill behind them, Levi does not unmount from Connie’s mare. 

“Delmy, I’m afraid I’ll have to take your big sister away now.” There are traces of gentleness in the timbre of his voice.

“Okay, Mr. Ackerman,” Delmy whines, letting go reluctantly. Mikasa ruffles her auburn hair once more before grasping Levi’s extended hand and lifting herself up on the horse.

“Take care, Delmy—”

“Elias, slow down! You just ate!” Despite the distance, one can note the exasperation from Noah’s voice.

“Is that Mr. Ackerman, Delmy?” Elias calls out ecstatically. 

The mare instantly accelerates into leaping gaits, surprising Mikasa so much that she clasps his waist as they speed away from Delmy’s humble abode.

“Levi!” She smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “That was mean of you.”

“I‘ve had enough of being fawned over, Mikasa, and we’re behind schedule.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve just finished everything here.”

“You’ll see,” he says ambiguously.

Perhaps it is related to him regarding her strangely during breakfast. 

But despite being sufficiently intrigued, she does not inquire more about it. Instead, she presses her ear on his back—on the spot where his heart rests—listening to the lulling rhythm of his calm, steady heartbeats.

Easing into a trot, he diverges from the usual route to the villa and climbs higher up the mountain. Thankfully, the path is free from rocks and vegetation with only a verdant undergrowth. She knows exactly where this leads.

A heavenly scent in the air tickles her nose, and there it is, the plateau where Sasha and Connie vowed to spend the rest of their lives together. The tunnel of arches is still intact, but the pure white roses are gone and in their place are creamy white blossoms with viridescent vines.

Entering the enchanting tunnel, one of the alluring flowers falls from the dangling vines and onto her palm. Its sweet, vanilla-like fragrance is a blessing.

“Many folks didn’t want the tunnel to be dismantled. With that, some took the liberty to transplant star jasmines, so that families can enjoy this scenery,” Levi explains, smiling faintly. “They bloom starry white in spring and summer, and then turn bronze in autumn.”

“This is wonderful,” she whispers. “Thank you, Levi.”

When they reach the end of the spellbinding white tunnel, the horse slows to a stop and Levi slightly turns around. “Are you happy?”

She blinks at him, warmth blossoming from deep within her chest. “Right now, yes.”

“How about today?”

Humoring him, she begins to narrate, “Well, the trio threw me an entertaining going away party where I was stunned to silence by their accapella. Mrs. Voran’s fruit and quark pastries were also a delight. And you showed me such a breathtakingly beautiful place. Today, I’m plenty happy as it is.”

“Are you sure? You don’t…”

“What is it?”

“Nevermind. I’m just glad that you are.” With a cluck of his tongue, Connie’s mare hastens into a trot toward the opposite end of the tunnel. “I hope you have some room in that stomach of yours for Leni’s feast.”

She cozily settles against his back once more, smiling freely.  _ “God, _ I completely forgot about that.”

* * *

The welcoming entourage at Kuchel is a special kind of hell. Mikasa is pleased to be surrounded by people who are overjoyed to see her, but to be passed around like a ragdoll and bombarded with pleasantries and inquiries produce an exhaustion like no other, especially when she has just stepped out of the carriage.

Kind Gerard notices her agitation and politely disengages her from sweet Granny Rheta and her assertive grandson. Leading Mikasa to her usual table by the glass windows, the burly man slides a plate of sizzling lamb chops and mashed potatoes to her. 

“Good to see you again, Mikasa.”

As if on cue, her mouth waters. “Oh, I missed this, Gerard. Thank you.”

He flashes her a mischievous grin. “Try to frequent Trost with him, okay? Honestly, now I can’t tell who’s wrapped around whose finger anymore. This is too amusing to miss out on.” He pats her on the back before disappearing into the kitchen. “Holler when you need seconds!”

Halfway through her meal, Levi occupies the empty seat across her, looking a tad rumpled. “Darjeeling tea would be great right now.”

Mikasa begins to rise. “I’ll tell Gerard.”

“No,” he says, placing his hand over her left one. “Just stay here.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, sitting down and growing self-conscious of his attentive gaze and everyone else’s stupefied stares. She picks up the fork with her free hand. “Do you want a bite?”

“No, thank you. We have an hour and a half till we set off for the cottage if we want to return before sundown, so eat slowly.” There is no use protesting against Levi’s schedules by this point, even if this isn’t a business trip. 

Catching a glimpse of a vivacious wave from another table, Mikasa smiles at one of the jewelry store clerks she previously saved.

“You really wanted to come here, huh?”

“Well, I did give them my word that I’ll stop by, and I like this town.” Not to mention, she has to fetch the townspeople’s gifts that Jean deposited in her temporary room.

The tilt of his mouth is roguish. “Now that’s more positive than your last review.”

Disregarding his jab, she skirts toward a topic that she has been interested in for so long. “A promise is a promise. Have you made any promises lately, Levi?”

He watches her curiously. “Yes, to you.”

“How about other people?” she prods.

“Not that I know of. I rarely make promises.”

Not wanting him to be suspicious of her, she ceases the search for a name. “Do you keep them?”

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes. To the best that I can.” Then he leans forward, interlacing his fingers with hers, and asks with a lilt of teasing, “Are you having doubts about me?”

An exaggerated hum prolongs her answer. “A little.”

“Then I simply have to erase them—”

“I’m so relieved that I caught up to you, Miss Mikasa.” A blonde young man crouches beside her, panting harshly with his hand on the table.

Alarmed, she waits for him to catch his breath. “Are you okay, Hans?”

“Gerard told me last night that I can take some time off work today,” he stammers, a mad flush streaking his cheeks. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Only for a short while. I have to leave later.”

The musician’s expression turns crestfallen. “Really?”

“Yes.”

An internal struggle agonizes Hans for a few seconds, then his crouch shifts into a kneel. The look he directs her with is utterly uncharacteristic; full of adoration and resolve. The bouquet of fresh red roses he presents to her gives her an inkling of the next event.

“Miss Mikasa, I have loved you ever since I first laid my eyes on you,” he gulps anxiously. “Will you accept my heart?”

Simultaneous gasps and exclamations resound from all directions inside the tea shop. A chair topples to the floor, and dropped utensils clang sharply against the plates. Gerard bursts out of the kitchen and cries out, “Think about your job, Hans!”

Sensing a dark aura emanating from Levi, Mikasa only squeezes his hand before approaching the trembling man on his knees.

She bends to his level and gathers the flowers in her arms. “I am happy that you see me worthy of your love, Hans. Thank you. But I can only accept your roses. I’m sorry.”

Hans plops down on the floor, a mixture of contentment and resignation overtaking his face. “I understand. Thank you for being my first love, Miss Mikasa.”

His endearing nature inspires a collective “aw” from the crowd. Out of nowhere, Gerard jumps the young man, encasing him in a tight hug and pulling him away. 

“Come here, you sweet, honorable bastard. Nine rounds of beer tonight is on me.”

* * *

Mikasa speaks over the chomping and scuffling of hooves on the dusty streets of Shiganshina while she keeps an eye out for Kuchel’s second branch. “You’re not glowering at his flowers today.” 

“They aren’t to blame and…he’s a good kid,” he says, stroking the silky mane of his raven mare. 

Proud of this development, she attempts to tease him,  _ “What? _ I didn’t hear the last part?”

He points a halfhearted glare on her. “Tough luck. I won’t say it again.”

She squares her shoulders haughtily. “You will if I win.” With a cluck of her mouth, her chestnut mare gallops wildly, navigating swiftly through the bustling thoroughfare and beyond the great wall. 

Behind her, Levi is more than a couple feet away, and from the looks of it, he is gaining on her. Positively thrilled, she picks up her speed. Her line of sight locks on her tall, bountiful forest until she moves past the direction of a certain cliff.

Her mare is brought to an excruciating halt. And so is her heart.

“Mikasa?” he asks, uneasiness and worry tinged in his tone, when she absently grazes the skin of her bare neck over and over. “What’s the matter?”

Her voice is hollow. “What day is it, Levi?” 

The seconds that pass by before he responds is harrowingly long.

“September the seventh.”

Delirious with affection and happiness and the warmth she has been seeking all along, she has forgotten about that day. The day when all the light in the world vanished before her eyes. The day when she was plunged into the dark abyss of loneliness and regret.

September the sixth. The day of Eren’s death.


End file.
